


Nuclear

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alana Bloom is a Cannibal, Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beating, Biting, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Collars, Cunnilingus, Discussion of Abortion, Established Relationship, F/M, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Heterosexual Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Kidnapping, Knotting, M/M, Married Hannibal Lecter/Alana Bloom, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Murder, Omega Will Graham, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, References to Knotting, Sensory Deprivation, Someone Help Will Graham, Team Sassy Science (Hannibal), Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Will Graham is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-07-12 02:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 75,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15985664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: Five years ago, Will disappeared.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got a bug, but it's on my list so it's okay!  
> Please read the warnings/tags, and you'll have an idea by the end of the chapter what I mean. This story is going to focus a LOT on Will's recovery, his gradual rehabilitation, and Hannibal and Alana re-integrating themselves into his life and all of them learning to be together again. If you have any questions/want more detail, please feel free to message me here or on Tumblr (same name) and I'll go into more detail for you.  
> The first part of this chapter is only Hannibal/Alana. I admit I have a thing for Alana getting eaten out, okay, I'm not ashamed haha. And I have no intention of bringing in any relationship drama between them beyond Will's recovery. They were all happy and together, damn it.  
> Hope you guys like it! I don't know how long this story will be but it's been itching at me so updates will probably come quickly and I'll let you know once I have a better idea of how long I intend to make it.

Alana comes to bed late.

By the time she reaches the bed, she is wearing a thin, black nightgown that shows the pale flesh of her breasts, just past the point of modesty. It stops short, just at the lovely curve of her thighs, revealing the lacy black underwear currently keeping her hidden from Hannibal's gaze. He turns to regard her, and she smiles at him, pulling her side of the covers down and sliding across the expanse to put her cheek to his shoulder.

Hannibal smiles, setting his book on the nightstand, and wraps a hand through the soft waves of her hair, where they curl and settle around her shoulders. He pulls it back, exposing the graceful arch of her neck, the hollow of her collarbones. She wears enticing things, a signal well-honed from their many years together, and she sighs when he kisses the top of her head. Her hand settles on his chest, over his thin t-shirt, the sparkling diamond and more modest white gold of her engagement and wedding ring catching the light from Hannibal's reading lamp.

With his other hand, he takes hers, and brings it to his lips. Her smile widens, though it does not reach her eyes.

Hannibal tugs at her hand, coaxes and helps her into his lap. The sheets are pushed down to his knees, giving her room, allowing him to feel her warmth and vitality in all its excess. He can smell her, clean and washed, only a hint of her perfume from the day still clinging to her neck, and he sighs, pulling her gently to him by the back of her neck, and lifts his chin to meet her soft lips in a kiss.

She melts against him as she always has, shivering in the cool air of the room. They always keep it cool, to accommodate for Hannibal's warmth while they sleep. She pushes up against him, soft breasts and the subtle outward curve of her thighs blanketing him, stirring his response as an Alpha and a man.

She kisses him again, parts her jaws to allow him to taste her. Mint toothpaste clings to the tip of her tongue, the beer Hannibal brews her a sweet aftertaste as he kisses her, and she lets out a quiet, soft moan, her hands settling wide and warm on his shoulders.

He lets his hands explore her, savors the silky slide of her nightgown and the lace at her hips, the smooth flesh beneath. Though she is by no means dainty, she feels small and sweet in his arms – a contrast they both enjoy immensely, when Hannibal turns rough.

He flattens his hands on her thighs, thumbs finding the marks he leaves when she parts for him, and she kisses him again, her breathing turning heavy, eyes dark in the low light. Her pupils overtake most of her iris, prompted to flare at the touch of her Alpha.

Hannibal smiles at her, and when she returns it, it crinkles the corners of her eyes, bulges her cheeks. "You are beautiful, sweetheart," he says, prompting her to flush, and shiver atop him. He pulls her closer, lets her feel the warm, solid muscles in his thighs, the strength in his shoulders when her blunt, manicured nails curl and dig in.

He kisses her again, parts from her sweet thighs with one hand to wrap in her hair, tugging her from the kiss to expose her neck. There is a single white line along the base of her throat, before the bone and hollow there, where Hannibal bit her on their wedding night. Around it, modest bruises pepper her shoulders, her chest, the back of her neck when Hannibal mounts her that way.

His other hand grows impatient, rucks up her nightgown to feel the gentle curve of her waist, the sharp jut of her hipbone. She shivers again, pink lips parted as she breathes him in.

He smiles, nuzzles her, and growls in her ear; "Let me taste you."

She lets out a weak, needy whine, and nods, and Hannibal lifts her and rolls them, places her gently against their many pillows. She sits mostly upright, nightgown pooling around her stomach, exposing her navel. The straps, loose and slim as they are, fall down her shoulders. She looks lovely, worthy of any muse, and Hannibal kisses her again, releases her hair, and slides his hands down her flanks. He curls his fingers in her underwear and tugs at them, lets her plant her feet and lift her hips so that he can remove them, to her knees, to her feet, then off.

She keeps herself clean, here, too. Trimmed and short-haired, darker here since during the summer she lightens her hair with streaks of honey and pomegranate-red. Hannibal sucks in a breath, lets the musky scent of her wash over his tongue, and lets out a snarl of his own, placing a kiss on the soft skin of her belly, his hands finding their normal places on her thighs and pushing them apart.

She sighs, eyelids fluttering to half-mast so that he is only allowed a slip of the dark, dark blue. Women, neither Alpha nor Omega, do not have red or gold in their irises when they're aroused or in times of high stress, but the color of her eyes is lovely, sometimes summer-sky, sometimes the deepest ocean.

Hannibal flattens himself to the bed, ruts his cock against it as he nuzzles the crease of her thigh, parts his jaws and sucks the sweat-damp skin there delicately between his teeth. Her hands go to his head, curl in his hair, tugging. Impatient.

She's always impatient to have his mouth on her.

He smiles, gives her a simple look so she can see how she colors his own eyes, and she bites her lower lip, lifts her chin to expose her throat, and Hannibal sighs, kisses the little patch of dark hair between her legs, breathes her in deeply.

His hands slide under her, cup the flesh of her ass and drag her just a little ways down, and he parts his lips, lets his tongue reach out to lick the sweet, pink slip of her. She shivers, thighs tensing around his shoulders, and Hannibal growls, nuzzling her, and does it again. He licks into her, in the mood to tease, and drags his nose in a line of pressure over her clitoris.

Her stomach sinks in, chest heaving with a sudden intake of breath, and Hannibal growls again, viscerally satisfied at the scent of her arousal as it sharpens, then softens. Unlike Omegas, who become crisp and light when aroused, Hannibal has found Alana's scent to become fuller, sitting like caramel and mead on his tongue.

His teeth find her clitoris again, tongue parting her so he can catch it between them. He tugs, oh so gently, enough to make her gasp and moan, low and quiet. He soothes the sting with his tongue, mouth watering when he starts to feel her slicken on his lower lip.

Her nails dig into his scalp, tugging on his hair where it's threaded between her fingers. Her legs spread a little wider, no longer using his shoulders for balance, and he grins, half-feral, and drags his tongue over her clitoris again, harsher this time. He doesn't relent, but does it again, circling, pressing, a brief respite given only to taste her slick as she starts to leak.

She whines, higher now, and when Hannibal lifts his head to look on her, he sees the delicate flush on her cheeks has spread down her chest now, dipping below the edge of her nightgown.

He knows the curves and hidden places on her body well. They've been married for almost seven years, and Hannibal has always been a steadfast and capable study of the human body – especially hers, for though she is beautiful at all times, when in their bed, she is glory and fierce desire, blushing-heat and shaking thighs, and Hannibal loves every twitch, every sigh, every moan he can wring from her.

He pulls one hand back, teasing gently between her legs, and slides it in as he sucks at her clit. His mouth is loud, obscene, gentled only by the grateful tightening of her fingers in his hair, her soft moans as Hannibal's fingertip curls, drags back, gently coaxing her to leak for him, to shudder for him. He kisses her sweat-damp skin, licks up when he drags down, and she moans, thighs trembling, her stomach sinking in as her body spasms.

"Hannibal," she gasps, weak and raw, and Hannibal growls, closes his eyes and starts to use his mouth in earnest. She likes being wet, likes being coaxed gently at first, then all in a rush like he's dragging her over the cliffside.

Her stomach tenses, her breath comes in a loose, heavy gasp, and Hannibal smiles and kisses her thigh as she clamps down around his finger, shuddering through her orgasm. The caramel thickness of her coats his tongue, and he pulls his finger out to lick it clean, before he flattens his hands on her thighs so she cannot close them.

He licks through her swollen, candy-pink flesh, parts her for his tongue and drinks her slick, gathers it ravenously as she whines and pulls at his hair in meek protest.

When her spasms end, he lets her go, lets her pull him up to her mouth. With other lovers, Hannibal has always been more polite, but she likes the taste of herself on his tongue, his lips. He lets out a weak moan against her mouth, lets her tongue between his teeth so she can taste herself there.

She moans, and smells crisply of sweat and arousal at the neck, when Hannibal puts his nose to her thundering pulse. His cock is hard, straining behind his clothes, eager to get inside of her and feel her shiver for him again.

But he waits. She is female, and capable of continuing far quicker than her male counterparts, but it is always polite to wait. Soon, she relaxes under him, arches her hips up into the press of his hands, and allows him to pull her down, underneath him. Hannibal pushes the excess pillows to one side and takes one, angling it under her hips.

She smiles, pushing at the waistband of his pajama pants and his underwear, exposing his cock. He's leaking, his cockhead the same blushing red as her chest, and she lifts herself up for him, guides him to where she's wet and ready.

He growls, fingers flexing on her hips, and catches her mouth in another kiss as he pushes inside her. She parts for him, eagerly, easily, sighing as her legs wrap around his waist, heels hooking behind his back. He takes her hands, presses them flat to the bed on either side of her head. Lets her control the pace, lets her thighs turn tight when he's fully sheathed inside her, lets her grind onto him so that his cockhead drags where she's sensitive and swollen. Pulls back when she releases him, only to do it again.

He kisses her, again, again, nuzzles her neck and breathes in her perfume and her sweat. He releases one of her wrists and it immediately goes to his hair, pulling idly as he wraps his hand around her thigh, thumb brushing over her clitoris in smooth, even strokes that match the rhythm of his hips.

She is slick, and tight, welcoming and warm around him, blister-hot. He growls when she tightens up, sensitive body spasming and arching up for him. She clings to him, and Hannibal understands why, and he lets her. Lets her drag her nails across the back of his neck – an action he would not tolerate from any other person. Lets her breathe his name and pull him in, as desperate for him as she ever has been.

She starts to bear down around him, and he goes still, drinking in her soft moan as he kisses her, drags the breath from her lungs as she trembles through her orgasm. Hannibal stops touching her, slides his hand up the sweet dip of her stomach, the rise of her breasts through the nightgown. He wraps his free hand in her hair, finds it damp with sweat and thick in his hands.

She is exquisite, like this. Panting and blushing and bright-eyed, she is never more beautiful than when she lets Hannibal between her legs.

She goes lax with a sharp noise, gasping against his neck since his nose is still tight on her pulse. He lets go of her other arm, shivering when she wraps her arms around his shoulders and her nails dig bluntly against his spine.

"Hannibal," she whispers.

Hannibal's upper lip curls, and he starts to move within her again. She's very wet, now, slick as an Omega in heat, and her inner muscles tighten for him, urging him to knot. Alphas can't knot women, they lack the musculature to keep it swollen for longer than a moment, but Hannibal presses deep all the same.

His hands fly to her hips, pushing her down for the best angle to mount her. He snarls, trembling in her embrace, and clenches his eyes tightly shut as his orgasm unwinds in his belly, sinks low, and out of him. The slick of his seed is warm, warmer than she is, and he rides her through it, instinct in him demanding he plant himself as deep inside of her as he can get.

She winces when his knot swells, pushes against her, but does not go in. Hannibal wouldn't force her to take it, even for as short a time as it lasts. He wraps his fingers around it instead, squeezing and snarling low as he finishes inside her.

He recovers quickly, though not as quickly as her, and finds her bearing his weight well before he gets his hands back to the bed and manages to lift himself off of her. She smiles at him, toothy and satisfied, the blue returning to her iris as the desire calms. She cups his face, kisses him passionately, as he fixes his clothes and removes the pillow from underneath her hips.

He leaves it at the foot of the bed, to wash the pillowcase later.

She pulls him to her, and they settle as Hannibal corrects the straps on her shoulders, tugs the nightgown to a more modest place on her hips, though it still does not cover her. She makes no move to retrieve her underwear, and when they roll together and find their normal place, her back to his chest, he can feel the slick of her leaking out, staining her thighs and his clothes.

He doesn't mind. Never has.

He pushes her hair from her neck, nuzzles and kisses where she's still blushing. She hums, hand finding his and pulling him to rest there, fingers laced, in front of them.

Hannibal sighs. He knows her eyes aren't closed. She pulls a pillow to her, under her cheek, and Hannibal rests where there are more to allow him to see over her shoulder.

The rest of the bed stretches out, vast and cold, and Alana swallows harshly. Hannibal closes his eyes, kisses the back of her head.

"I know, my love," he murmurs.

Her breath hitches, for an entirely different reason now. Different, but not new. "I'm sorry," she says, whisper-quiet, her other hand wiping delicately under her eyes. "I just miss him so much."

Hannibal knows. Oh, how he knows. Though he does not allow himself to linger on him often; now, in the quiet stillness of their marriage bed, it's all-too-easy to see the abhorrent lack of their mate within it.

"I hope he's okay," she adds, squeezing his fingers. "Just, wherever he is. I hope he's happy."

Hannibal swallows, and tightens his arm around her, pulling her close.

It wasn't always just the two of them. Alana knew him, and Hannibal knew Alana, and when the three of them were all introduced, what happened next was as easy as gravity, as slippery as the seconds of the clock ticking away. He and Alana had been married at this point, just past their first anniversary, when the Omega with beautiful eyes and a smile that could charm honey from a hive was brought into Hannibal's life.

He was beautiful. He was delightful. His scent, mint and lemongrass and sweet like chocolate, became a fixture in Hannibal's and Alana's home near immediately. When he smiled, the room was brighter for it. When his thoughts turned dark and he bared his teeth, Hannibal quickly fell in love.

Still, despite his attraction, and despite the law allowing him as an Alpha to have both a wife and mate, Hannibal had been prepared to let his love go unanswered. What could have been an awkward trio skirted the bonds of social constructs, and Hannibal had known Alana loved her friend, but still, the night he'd come to their bed, bitten Hannibal and allowed himself to be mounted and mated in return, Hannibal could never have believed himself so lucky.

He gave Alana the second band of white gold on her finger, and accepted her thicker, golden wedding ring in turn.

Five years ago, he left. Disappeared without a trace. No note, no calls, nothing. It is one of the reasons Hannibal does not let his presence linger – the wing of his mind-palace reserved for his wife and his mate quickly grew walls, and fortifications, to lock him away and remove him from her. The pain of separation nearly drove Hannibal mad, and in those early days, he had found himself thinking over every interaction, every meal shared, every night the Omega lay sweet and submissive in their bed, to where it had gone wrong.

And he'd tried to find him. Oh, how he'd tried. If nothing else, the sheer insult of leaving without a trace was an offence he could not see unpunished. But there was nothing. No cell signals. No cash withdrawals or credit card trail.

It was as though he never existed, except for their empty bed. Their half-full home. The deep, aching wound stretching between Hannibal's and Alana's hearts that throbbed so sorely.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of when he left. Hannibal doesn't like to acknowledge it, but Alana cannot help herself. Such is her nature, to treasure fond memories instead of lingering on old aches. Hannibal is much less forgiving.

Still, he sighs, and allows himself to hurt, because Alana is hurting, and only through sympathy can he provide comfort.

"I hope so, too," he murmurs into her hair, and her shoulders shake, and she turns her head into her pillow to hide the wetness in her eyes. Hannibal clings to her, purrs to soothe her as best he can, and only allows himself to sleep when her breathing turns even, and her shoulders go lax.

 

 

Those that Hannibal would call friends know to give him and Alana a wide berth on this day. The death of an Omega is a tragedy, especially given how rare they are, how loved they are. But he is not dead – Hannibal is sure he would have felt it, if he had perished.

He is not dead, just gone. Vanished without a trace.

So, it surprises him when he receives a call from Jack, halfway through the morning. Alana is at work, her face stoic and her dress dark as though still in mourning. Hannibal knows she still holds out hope, that one day, he will return to them. Hannibal honestly isn't sure how he would react to the sound of his voice, the flash of his pretty eyes, the wayward mess of curls that Hannibal's hands remember as easily as a scalpel.

Jack is not someone Hannibal would call a friend. He admires the man's tenacious nature and knows him to be a smart, capable Alpha, as head of the BAU. But Jack brings reminders of _him_. And so Hannibal's shoulders are tensed, drawn up, as he walks into the BAU building. His hands are in his pockets, so he doesn't lash out and claw, and he only gives those he makes eye contact with a brief nod of recognition, before he heads up the stairs to Jack's office.

He knocks, and receives a terse 'Come in' in answer.

He opens the door, and closes it behind him, shrugging off his coat. Jack is sitting behind his desk, and regards Hannibal with an expression like he understands what a difficult day this must be, but has no room for empathy. No room for sympathy.

Hannibal takes a seat, eyebrows rising when Jack says nothing. "Are we waiting for someone else?" he asks.

Jack nods, and as he does, the door opens again, and Hannibal turns his head to spy Ms. Beverly Katz at the threshold. She has a file in her hands. Hannibal tilts his head to one side, regarding her. She has always appeared to him as a confident, self-assured woman, but right now she is positively squirrelly. Her dark eyes dart between Hannibal and Jack as though expecting to be attacked.

Behind her is Alana. She looks like she's been crying, eyes red where they should be white, smudges of her eyeliner coloring her face so she looks like she's gone days without sleep. Hannibal straightens with a low sound of concern.

"Alana?" he murmurs.

Beverly steps in, letting Alana in after. She moves as though zombified, her eyes unfocused, and barely flicker with recognition when Hannibal reaches out to her. Still, she takes his hand, and sits heavily in the second chair.

"What's going on?" he asks.

Alana looks to him, blinking. New tears well up, spill out. "They haven't told you?"

"I just got here," Hannibal murmurs, frowning at Jack, then back to his wife. "What's going on?"

"Is that his file?" Jack asks, gesturing to Beverly, who nods, and hands it to him. Hannibal lets out a growl of impatience, earning a flash of Jack's eyes and a downward turn of his mouth. "Doctor Lecter, I'm not sure how to say this, but…"

He hesitates, and in his silence, Alana speaks. Her voice is soft, and yet her words strike Hannibal to the core;

"They found him, Hannibal," she says, and cups her hand over her mouth. "They found Will."

Hannibal does not react, at first. He hasn't even allowed himself to think his mate's name for almost five years. Then, Alana's tears register with him, and she sits forward, elbows to her knees, her head in her hands. Hannibal flattens his palm on her shaking shoulders, and he looks to the file Jack is holding.

A file.

He thinks of it, and thinks of Alana's sobs. "Dead?" he whispers. He does not know how his heart might react; if it will race, or stop completely.

Jack shakes his head. "No," he replies. "Not dead."

Hannibal presses his lips together, and nods, once. Tries to think rationally – but Will has never made him rational. Even in his silence, the wing of his mind palace trembles, and the darkness shifts like a great beast waking.

Will is _alive_.

He is _found_.

Jack's expression has not wavered. It is neither happy nor sad. Beverly, too, is oddly composed, her arms folded over her chest and her lips drawn into a thin, tight line.

He breathes out. "Where did they find him?"

Jack opens the file, skimming it quickly, though Hannibal gets the impression that he already knows the broad strokes. "We found him in Pennsylvania," he says, and Hannibal's chest tightens. So close? "He was…"

Alana sits up, wiping at her face, and Jack hesitates.

Hannibal meets his eyes, and nods. "Alana, would you like to wait outside?"

She looks to him, as he knew she would, her eyes bright with outrage and her brows pulled together in a deep frown. "No," she bites back, and Hannibal cannot help himself – he smiles. She turns her attention back to Jack. "I want to know. I need to know."

Even as she speaks, another tear falls, rolling with its cousins down her cheek. Hannibal brushes her neck, catches it with his thumb, and wipes it on his suit pants. He takes Alana's hand and she squeezes with a vice grip.

Jack doesn't press. Another quality Hannibal has found useful most times; he's bullheaded, and doesn't appreciate shirkers.

"He was found in a cabin, deep in the woods. In a cage," Jack says, his eyes on the file. He reads the description off like bullet points on a grocery list, but Hannibal can see his knuckles pale, and grip the file tightly, his eyes flickering with red. Before Hannibal mated with Will, Jack was his pack Alpha, and his love for Will has always been paternal and strong.

"He was malnourished and dehydrated, had been starved of sunlight or touch, collared, and chained. Three other Omegas were found at the site. Two had died of dehydration, and the third is in intensive care in Pittsburg. He -."

Jack stops, clears his throat, and rolls his shoulders like he has to physically shake off the words. Hannibal understands. His own body is tense and thrumming with rage. He is being forced to consider, for the first time, that when Will disappeared, it was not of his own volition.

The idea that his mate has been suffering for five _years_ , while Hannibal licked his wounds and satisfied himself with his paltry search, is outrageous. Intolerable. Hannibal sincerely hopes that the man who did it suffers for a _very_ long time.

By his own hand, if he has his way.

"He had been badly beaten. X-rays revealed several badly-healed fractures around his wrists, ankles, and shoulders." Unbidden, a flicker of pride builds in Hannibal's chest. Will fought. Of course he did.

Alana lets out a broken-sounding, soft noise, covering her mouth with her free hand.

Hannibal swallows. "Any signs of sexual assault?" he murmurs. He has to know.

Jack looks at him, and then shakes his head. "No," he replies. "No traces of pregnancy hormones, or any chemicals used to abort a fetus, nor any traces of children were present at the scene." Hannibal nods, once. The idea of Will being abused in any manner is abhorrent, but if Will had gotten pregnant, or had to give birth, or made to suffer in any way because of his breed, like that?

Hannibal's eyes itch, showing red, and he looks down.

"You brought him back here?" Alana asks.

Jack nods. "He was found because his companion had gone into heat." Hannibal registers this news absently. The three of them had never given much thought to children, but Alana takes birth control regularly, and Will, when they'd met, was on a dose of shots that staid his heat cycle and fertility. He had known he'd smell when Will was fertile again, and it is then he intended to bring the subject up, but knew not when that might be.

"A hiker scented it and found them. Will was identified by his mating bite and dental records, and they sent him back to us for his recovery."

Alana sobs again, teeth gritted and knuckles white between Hannibal's. Hannibal will admit, his own eyes feel wet, his throat tight. There are too many emotions to dissect and sort, right now. He is not sure he will ever have the time to do it.

"I want to see him," Alana whispers. "Where is he?"

"He's being held at Chilton's hospital."

Hannibal frowns. "The Institute for the Criminally Insane?" he asks, and Jack nods, setting the file down, his expression grim. "Why?"

Beverly clears her throat, and the three of them look at her. "Doctor Lecter," she begins, and hesitates. "Will is…he's not the same." Hannibal swallows back his huff – he would think not, after abuse such as that.

But Alana speaks; "What do you mean, Bev?"

Beverly swallows. "He's attacking any Alpha that gets near him," she says. "He's…practically mute. None of us have gotten him to talk, or react to anything. It's like…" She winces, looks down. "It's like he doesn't even know who he is anymore."

"I'm not surprised," Hannibal murmurs, glad for how even he manages to keep his voice. "Five months is enough to completely rewire someone's brain, and their perceptions of the world. Five years…?"

Will has been alone, abandoned, for five _years_.

Alana pulls her hand from Hannibal's, wipes at her face, smearing her makeup on her sleeve. "I want to see him," she says, adamantly. "I just…I need to see him."

"As do I," Hannibal says. Even if Will does not recognize them, or tries to attack, he will be soothed to see fight in him at all. His eyes ache to lay his gaze upon his mate again, his hands burn with the need to touch Will. The scent palette at the roof of his mouth, and his nose, itch to breathe him in again.

Jack presses his lips together, meets Hannibal's eyes. There passes between them some understanding, Alpha to Alpha, and he nods. "Beverly will go with you," he says. Alana nods, and stands. Hannibal follows suit, as does Jack, in preparation to go.

"Jack," Hannibal murmurs, as Beverly takes Alana's arm and guides her towards the restroom to wash her face. Jack looks to him. "Ms. Katz said that no one has been able to get him to communicate." He nods. "How long have you had him for?"

"He arrived yesterday," Jack says, and gestures to the file. "We wanted to get an assessment done, before we called you."

Understandable. Perhaps forgivable. Hannibal swallows back his growl. "Have you found the person who did this to him?" he asks.

Jack shakes his head, eyes flickering red, and lets out a soft snarl, upper lip curling. Though it is not directed at Hannibal, his nerves are too frayed, peeled back and exposed, to do anything but tense in reaction to it.

"No," Jack says, darkly. "But I have everyone working on it. Hopefully the Omega in Pittsburg can give us more information, once he's communicating. The doctors there put him under, for the surgery, and sedated him while he heals for now and they wait for the Neutral to get rid of his heat, so we can't talk to him. But as soon as he's awake, I have the police and an agent on standby to question him."

Hannibal nods, accepting that. "When you find this person," he says, little more than a purr, "I would like to speak to them myself. I would very much like to talk to whoever thinks this is acceptable behavior, and correct them. Personally."

Jack meets his eyes, his expression still very dark, but his lips twitch upwards at the corners. "I'll do my best," he says, heavy with understanding.

"Thank you."

Hannibal leaves Jack's office, finds Alana and Beverly at the foot of the stairs. Alana's face is clean, now, but her eyes and cheeks are puffy from crying. She looks up to Hannibal, her eyes bright, shining, and she holds her hand out to him.

He smiles, and goes to her, and takes her hand, kissing her knuckles.

"Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a few questions about this, and I was on the fence but I finally decided to go for it: yes, Hannibal is the Ripper/a cannibal. So are Alana and Will, and they know. I explain a bit about it in this chapter but there'll be more development about that in future chapters too. I've updated the tags to reflect.  
> Hope you guys like it! I was overwhelmed by the response in the first chapter so I definitely want to keep the momentum going.  
> Enjoy! :D

They take separate cars – Hannibal and Alana, and Beverly in her own, accompanied by her Omega, who works in the morgue as part of their trio. Brian, the Alpha, Jimmy, the Omega, and Beverly. Hannibal had only known the three of them through Will and Alana, and Jimmy talks a lot, but he has found that the three of them work well together, in a way Hannibal finds commendable. Although he loves Alana, and Will, he does not think any of them have the capacity to share their work.

Indeed, the brief times Hannibal had assisted Will with criminal profiles, they tended to swing wildly between butting heads and flirting, gazes so intense on each other it's a wonder they weren't written up for improper behavior in the workplace. Adding Alana to the mix would have surely incensed them further.

Hannibal drives, Alana in the passenger seat, a silent monument to grief and emotion. Their hands are laced, resting on the gear shift, and Hannibal idly twirls the wedding and engagement rings on her finger around, to suit the need for his hands to do something.

Alana lets out a quiet sigh, and Hannibal spares a brief glance from the road to see her brow heavy, her jaw and the creases around her mouth a mess of thin lines, grief and anger and sadness warring within her ocean-dark eyes. Her irises grow deep blue, the dilation and refraction of color darkening, when she's outraged. And she is – Hannibal can smell her anger, rushing harshly in her blood.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks her, quiet in the car. There is no music playing. This feels like too harsh a day for such things.

Alana hums, squeezing her fingers between Hannibal's, and looks to him. "Did you find out from Jack, who did this?" she asks. The way she speaks is velveteen, hiding steel. Hannibal shakes his head, and sighs.

"No," he replies.

"When you find him," Alana continues, for it is surely a 'When', not an 'If'. She knows enough about Hannibal to know that they will not let this injustice go unanswered; "I want you to bring me his heart."

Hannibal smiles, shows his teeth, and lets out a soft purr when he comes to a red light, and meets her eyes. "Or course, my love."

Though Alana's mouth does not move, her eyes are alight with visceral satisfaction, as she gently squeezes Hannibal's hand again. She'd known – of course she'd known – from the beginning, or perhaps before it. She has staid Hannibal's murderous instincts, curbed and refined them through the years. Given him a compass, a direction in which to point. Alana's instinct is to save, and sometimes people can only be saved through violence, through the abrupt end of their abuser.

So she finds abusers. Will finds murderers. They give their Alpha names, faces, places of work and worship, and Hannibal lays before them his offering, to protect and provide, to kill and slaughter in their names, and they have always been well-fed at his table.

The light changes, and Hannibal drives on. Soon, the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane rises up in front of them, severe and grey amidst the brightness of the sky. Hannibal feels strangely disconcerted by such clear, open blue. The clouds should be heavier, he thinks, to mark such a momentous occasion. The sun should tuck its face away, and hide behind a storm, ready to blink and weep for the sight of Will once they lay their eyes upon him again.

They park, and get out of the car, walking hand in hand to the steps leading up to the front. Beverly and Jimmy are standing there already, and Hannibal's upper lip twitches, his chest rumbling in a snarl, as he spots a familiar mane of fiery orange curls.

Freddie Lounds turns on her heel, dressed in sharp plum tones that highlight the gaunt paleness of her face, the shine of her glacial eyes. She's holding a tape recorder in her hand. "Doctor Lecter," she greets primly. "Doctor Bloom. Are you here to see Will?"

Hannibal bristles, both at her presence and the presumptuous way she says his mate's name. But Alana smiles, genteel and tactful, belying the sharpness of her teeth and at odds with the calm way she'd just asked for a man's heart.

"Miss Lounds," she replies, nodding in greeting. "Surely this can wait until after we visit him?"

Freddie blinks, and whether it's because she senses Hannibal's ill-intended gaze, or because Alana spoke first, she turns towards her, holding her recorder out with a thin-lipped, tight smile. "Forgive me, Doctor Bloom, but this is quite a story. Two Omegas recovered from a torture dungeon. They say Will's been missing for five years, and the other Omega found with him for longer. What do you think they were being used for?"

"I'm sure you have your theories," Alana replies coolly.

She turns, puts her shoulder towards Freddie and brushes past her in a manner quite rude, but Hannibal smiles, and follows her up the steps. Jimmy and Beverly follow them, and Hannibal can't help but notice that, in their little troupe, he is the only Alpha. Even the orderly that greets them is Omega.

Of course, Beverly had said Will is attacking any Alpha on sight. He may turn violent if given even a scent of one. Hannibal wants to hope, of course he does, that his scent will be familiar and comforting to Will, that Will might remember him, and gentle, and settle at the sound of his voice, at his touch. But it's a slim hope, a fool's hope, ultimately, and he cannot allow it to linger long.

Chilton greets them past the sign-in station, the Alpha dressed in a peacock display of bright blue and lavender. Hannibal's nose twitches at his sharp, lemony scent, and he resists the urge to raise his upper lip at the other Alpha, resists the urge to pull Alana close to his side when he smiles at her.

"Good morning," he murmurs, solemn, his dark eyes kept low. At least he has the decorum to understand that his is a heavy moment. "Jack told me you were coming."

Alana nods, and Hannibal nods. "Where is he?" she asks.

"Down in the holding pens," Chilton replies, and gestures for them to follow. "I'm sure Jack gave you a briefing over what to expect?"

"Physical ailments, yes," Hannibal replies, at Chilton's shoulder. He follows the other Alpha down the stairs, where the more dangerous prisoners are kept. They enter a long, cement hallway, and the air is curiously silent and still. Humid, enough that Hannibal's neck prickles with sweat. The stench of Alpha is thick and heavy, as all violent criminals that end up here are Alpha – well, most – and Hannibal bristles at this knowledge. He cannot imagine what it's like for Will, down here.

Will has always been particularly sensitive to Alphas, both from his upbringing and his line of work. They set him on edge, in a way Hannibal is monumentally glad he himself doesn't. He is, he thinks, the only Alpha Will has ever trusted, has ever loved. Except perhaps Jack, but certainly not in the same way.

Chilton accepts his reply, and leads the way down the hallway to the very last cell on the left. Hannibal blinks, frowning. The cells are made of plastic, see-through, but this one has been covered in a kind of film, that allows little light through it.

"We had to cover his cell," Chilton explains lowly. "Rob him of sightlines. He cannot see us, but we can see him."

He gestures towards the cell, and steps back. "Have a look."

Hannibal has seen people at their worst, both physically and mentally. He has seen bodies on the brink of death at his operating table, people with minds so fractured they can barely speak, barely make eye contact. He has seen corpses, in varying stages of rot and ruin. He has seen men stripped to the bone, has seen the light in a woman's eyes as she begs and pleads for mercy. Has seen the dreadful, satisfying flash overtake a body when it realizes its destiny is to be nothing more than meat.

He has smelled fear, and anger. Alpha rut, Omega distress, female anxiety. He has seen it all, experienced it all.

And yet -.

Nothing could have prepared him for this.

For it is not the sight of Will that weakens him, stutters his heart and makes his knees shake. It is not bruises, or bite marks, or blood, that makes him squeeze Alana's hand so hard it must surely hurt – but she is squeezing his fingers in turn, knuckles white as they step up to the cell.

It is Will's eyes. They are fixed upon Hannibal and Alana, though he cannot see them, so Chilton claims. There is a calm steadiness there, like a predator in the water waiting for his prey to come closer. He is thin, and pale, the pale blue scrubs he's wearing hang limply off his shoulders, highlight the slimness of his once-strong thighs. His wrists are bruised, and his hands sit atop his lap, curled loosely at an odd angle as though they hurt to be placed properly. His neck is red, chafed from a collar. His cheeks bear indents from a muzzle, worn for so long that it has stripped away parts of his beard, revealing sharp cheekbones, the harsh line of his jaw.

But his eyes. They burn with a sharpness and steadiness that makes Hannibal's chest tight. He does not look angry, nor afraid.

His irises are molten gold. No blue or green remains within them, they have been obliterated by Omega instinct, by some pre-evolved mind state that screams _danger_ , _danger_ , and Hannibal's mouth waters at the sight of him.

He steps forward again, and presses his free hand to the screen.

" _Will_ ," he breathes.

Alana echoes it, weak with love, with sorrow. Hannibal doesn't know if she sees what he does – perhaps her gentle eyes linger too long on the bruises at Will's wrists, the raw, red marks on his neck. His exposed ankles, similarly bruised from too-long spent in cuffs and chains.

But at the sound of their voices, Will blinks, and his chin rises. His nostrils flare. He stands, abruptly, his fists clenched at his sides. Hannibal cannot smell him, like this, cannot catch any traces of that beloved scent.

He turns to Chilton. "Can we part the screen?" he murmurs.

Chilton nods, and takes a remote from his pocket. He hesitates. "You may want to take a step back."

They do, in deference. If it will have Will see them faster.

He presses a button, and the shutters of the cell turn, spreading outward like blinds on a window instead of flat. Without the odd, off-grey coloring, Will's paleness is more apparent, and the gold in his eyes brighter.

Will blinks, shoulders rolling as though in shock. His eyes snap to Chilton, first, and he bares his teeth, lets out a snarl so low and savage that Hannibal's spine turns hot at the sound of it. He breathes deep as air slightly-cooler in Will's cell rushes over him, bringing with it the scent of his Omega. His mate.

Will's scent is old, sour with abuse and distress, with pain, and yet Hannibal remembers it, lets it soak into the roof of his mouth, lets his belly grow warm and his head turn hot. The walls in his mind palace encasing Will begin to crumble, break, and Will's presence rushes out as snow on a mountain, an avalanche, threatening to crush him to dust.

So, too, does Will lunge. Hannibal's attention is caught by Beverly's cry of alarm, and he steps back just as Will throws himself against the slats of his cell, reaching for him. His fingers are dirty, mud and blood caked under his nails, and he reaches for Hannibal with a snarl, a fierce, single-minded intent.

There is no recognition in his golden eyes. Rather, Hannibal feels as though Will looks at him the same way he would regard a meal; nameless, faceless. No care for the pain and struggles of the person made flesh.

Will snarls again, baring teeth sharp and wide in a rumbling growl. He swipes at Hannibal again, one hand digging into the slats as though he intends to tear it free.

"Will," Alana whispers, her voice trembling and thick. She reaches out, but flinches when Will makes a grab for Hannibal again. Will, it seems, has no interest in anyone except the Alpha – a single-minded intent to kill him, to rip him to shreds.

Despite it all, Hannibal smiles.

"He doesn't recognize us," Alana says, and Hannibal looks to her, sees her free hand at her neck, her eyes wide and wet.

Will goes still at the sound of her voice, his sharp eyes darting between the two of them, and he snarls again, and says; "Get away from her."

It's not a yell. It's not a scream. It is the same cold-blooded purr of a wild cat. Hannibal shivers at the sound of it.

Will's eyes move to their laced fingers, and he growls. "Don't fucking touch her."

Chilton clears his throat, steps forward and puts a hand on Beverly's shoulder. "Perhaps we should -."

"Don't touch her!" Will snaps, and lunges across the way, almost catching Chilton's sleeve before the Alpha shies back, his dark eyes wide on Will. "Get away – get the fuck away, I swear to God -."

Chilton releases Beverly, and Will settles, apparently appeased. His upper lip curls, mouth turning sharp at the corners as he smiles. Beverly is touching Jimmy's arm, pushing him back with a low noise, but Will doesn't seem to care if she touches him. Just Alphas.

Interesting.

Slowly, Hannibal lets go of Alana's hand. Instead, he slides his hand over her shoulders, around the back of her neck, into her mane of hair. She sucks in a breath, and looks to him with wide eyes. Will's attention is drawn at the sound of her voice, and he snarls again. It appears as though his energy is boundless, formless, as he prowls down the slats to stand in front of Hannibal again. His eyes are bright with outrage, cheeks colored in anger.

"Doctor Chilton," Hannibal murmurs, not taking his eyes off Will. "Could you let Alana and I have a moment with Will? Alone?"

Chilton presses his lips together, obviously wanting to argue. His eyes dart to Will, then back, but Hannibal doesn't give Will the satisfaction of breaking his gaze. Omegas generally cannot hold eye contact with an Alpha for long, but Will stares, and stares, and seems in no demeanor to break their eye contact. He's a snarling, panting mess, the scent of his anger and aggression so thick that Hannibal's eyes are prickling red.

Finally, Chilton nods. He hands Alana the remote, and she takes it. "The grey button closes the slats again," he tells her. "Come to the end of the hallway when you're done. Mz. Kats, Mister Price, this way please."

Hannibal monitors their retreat absently. He smiles, and puts his teeth to Alana's ear.

"Do you trust me, darling?" he asks.

She swallows, and nods.

Hannibal's smile widens, and he lets her go. Will seems to settle when he sees Hannibal is not touching her.

"Talk to him," he tells her. "He may gentle, with you."

She nods again, her fingers flexing by her sides, and she takes a step forward. Will softens immediately, his snarl turning to a placative purr. His fingers curl around the slats and he leans forward, reaching for her with a trembling hand.

"It's okay," he whispers, coaxing. Hannibal remembers Beverly saying he was essentially mute. He seems much more talkative than Hannibal expected.

Will's fingers shake, curl when Alana doesn't step forward. He swallows, and whines, and the sound hits Hannibal hard in the stomach, makes him want to go to his mate, take him in his arms, soothe his distress. But he can't. He's impotent, useless like this. Anew, anger rises up, to the nameless person who did this to Will, who made him into his rabid, blind beast.

They will pay, dearly. This Hannibal knows, as certain as etchings in stone.

"Will," Alana breathes, hoarse. "Do you know who I am?"

Will blinks at her, brow furrowing. He tilts his head to one side and lets out a quiet, needy sound, pressing himself tight to the edges of the slats. He's still reaching for her, grabbing like she holds the answer to his every need.

"Please," he says. "I'll keep you safe. Come here."

He speaks quietly, coaxingly, but when Alana steps forward, Hannibal sees his shoulders tense, his eyes sharpen.

"Alana," he warns, and pulls her back, just as Will's hand turns into claws and he lunges, snapping between the space in the slats. Will snarls, baring his teeth, tearing at the plastic so much that the screening on the outer side tears, revealing smooth, see-through panes.

"Hannibal," Alana breathes, gasping at the sudden turn.

Hannibal shakes his head, gathers her in his arms. He takes the remote from her hands and presses the button, and the slats turn, forcing Will back onto the other side of the enclosure. Will howls, throwing himself against the panes, his claws screeching sharply as he rips at it as though he can tear his way through.

Hannibal takes her away, down the hall. She is protesting, tense in his arms. Hannibal doesn't know why – didn't she see his eyes?

He goes to the doors, steps through them, and they lock behind him with a blaring alarm. He hands the remote to Chilton, who takes it, his expression drawn and solemn.

Jimmy and Beverly look shaken. "They made him into a monster," the Omega breathes, shaking his head, eyes dark with sorrow.

"Not a monster," Alana says sharply.

"No," Hannibal whispers in hushed agreement. "An animal."

 

 

He takes Alana home, thankful that when they leave the facility, Miss Lounds is nowhere in sight. Neither of them speak, until Alana has beer in her hands and Hannibal has wine, and they sit at their too-large dining table, sipping and stewing in silence. Finally, Alana breathes out.

"We need to talk about this," she says.

Hannibal looks to her, eyebrows raised.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but I do. Or maybe you do, and you think that I don't, so you're not going to, until I do. But I need to talk about it. _We_ have to talk about this."

Hannibal blinks, and allows himself a smile at her flushed rambling. "Alright."

She sighs, puts her elbows to the table, her head in her hands. Her shoulders are shaking.

"I can't be impartial about this," she says. "I've tried. I can't."

Nor, Hannibal thinks, can he. Will's golden eyes are burned into the backs of his own, and they glare and glow like a night cat waiting to attack him. He thinks he can feel Will's presence, prowling in the shadows of their home, waiting to strike when their throats are bared.

She lets out a sobbing breath. "Five years, Hannibal," she whispers.

Hannibal nods. Five years. Five lost years, where they both thought Will had simply left, unwilling to stay with them and not wanting to risk a fight, a brawl, an argument. He hadn't wanted their tears, their demands, their explanations. Hannibal had thought he was simply unhappy, and allowed himself to suppose that, had never questioned it.

And now -.

"Will was taken from us," he murmurs. "He was taken, and he was tortured, in ways we do not yet fully understand."

She lifts her head, eyes red-rimmed and wet.

He reaches her to, puts his hand over hers. "We will find who did this," he tells her, assured and confident. "And when we do, I will slaughter and feed the three of us with their meat, and know that they will not harm another like they harmed Will. But," he adds, sighing, "revenge and recovery are not the same thing." They are not enough.

Alana nods, as though Hannibal had spoken the last part aloud.

"Why did you take me from him?" she murmurs, frowning.

Hannibal sighs again. "I believe there is significance in the presence of a female," he replies. "I think he meant to harm you. It's a telling sign."

Her frown deepens.

"There may have been a female involved in his capture, in his captivity. An accomplice, or another victim. Or both."

"But he's enraged by Alphas."

"And Alphas who are touching females," he replies. "He didn't react to Beverly or Jimmy, until Chilton touched her. He did not react to you, except when he saw me." And that troubles him greatly, but; "When the other Omega wakens, I will ask to accompany Jack to his questioning. He may be able to shed some light on the whole ordeal."

Her expression clears somewhat, though her eyes are still heavy and wet with sorrow. She breathes in, curls her fingers, shoulders tensed and Hannibal knows whatever she is about to say, he will not like;

"I want to visit him again. Alone."

He frowns. "Alana -."

"You said he doesn't react to women. He won't hurt me, or I won't put myself in a position to be hurt." She nods, already decided. Hannibal knows she's already decided, and he would do well not to dissuade her. "But with proximity, and time, he may remember me. Then, when he remembers me, he will remember you. Trauma recovery is just…it's time, Hannibal. It takes time."

She looks to him, wide-eyed and sad. "I know you want to heal him," she says gently. "I want to see him get better. But the fact of the matter is that you simply, by your nature, _cannot_ help. Not in the way you want."

He growls at her, tugs his hand away and takes a sip of wine. It's one of Will's favorites, crisp and tart. He hadn't the heart to throw his stores away, and when he found himself wondering if he would welcome the Omega back, should he return, he supposes it's actions like that which give away his answer.

Will is always welcome here.

"We must remove him from Chilton's facility as soon as possible," he says coolly, seeking a distraction from the whirlwind of his thoughts. "I cannot tolerate him being there."

In another enclosure. Another cage. Like an animal.

"And where will we keep him?" Alana asks, huffing in strained laughter. "Here?"

"Yes," Hannibal replies mildly. She blinks at him. "We can fit the guest bedroom with an outside lock. Build him a nest, as he once had. Surround him with something comforting and familiar, in an attempt to soothe his nerves and recover his memories."

"Hannibal," she says, shaking her head. "He'll try to kill you."

"He may try."

She is silent, and when Hannibal puts his eyes upon her again, her expression is strangely angry, cheeks pale and eyes flashing with outrage. He raises an eyebrow.

"Your pride and your guilt aren't letting you see straight," she says through gritted teeth. "You can't bend the rules and the world to your whims. Not with Will. _Especially_ with Will. He's a human being, Hannibal."

"He is ours," Hannibal replies flatly. It stays her tongue, shuts her jaws. She blinks. "He is yours, and he is mine. As much as we are his. Don't you want to bring him home?"

"Of course I do," she says, heavy.

"I'm not suggesting we steal him away tonight," Hannibal says, the corners of his mouth dragging down as he realizes that is precisely what she thought he was suggesting. "We will wait until he's calmer. Until we know more information. Then, we can cater his experience to help him recover in a safe and loving environment."

She blinks at him again, head tilted, considering.

"Behavioral therapy?" she murmurs. "Hypnosis?"

"Among other things," Hannibal replies with a smile. "Whatever works. I…"

He pauses, sighing, and rubs a hand over his face, looking away in an uncharacteristic show of weakness.

"I will admit, Alana, that I am guilty. I am proud. I allowed myself to think that Will's absence was an intentional slight, that he chose to hurt us both, and in my doing so, I have allowed him to be hurt beyond what I consider tolerable." Though he admits any hurt to Will or Alana is intolerable. "I considered myself merciful, when I did not spend more time and energy hunting him down. I thought it would be better, for both of us, to simply let what happened, happen, and to try and move on. Yet we have not moved on, either of us, and now we are presented with real evidence that Will did not leave. He was taken."

He puts his eyes to her again. "And I will do everything in my power to bring him back."

"As would I," she says softly. "But not too quickly. You must be gentle with him, Hannibal. I know you don't like it, but for now, you must not push yourself on him. You have to…merely observe, and step back when you want to take a step forward."

At that, Hannibal manages a tight, strained smile. He reaches for her again, takes her hand and kisses her knuckles.

"Whatever you think is best, my love," he says. She smiles.

 

 

The next morning, Hannibal calls Jack.

"Hannibal, good, I was just about to call you," Jack says once introductions are passed. "The Omega's awake. Charlie Brooks. He's out of intensive care and ready to talk."

"I'd like to accompany you," Hannibal replies. Alana has cleared her day, and told him she would be spending most of it with Will, in the Institute. Hannibal is, as a result, rabid with the need for distraction. Anything to tear him away from the memory of Will's golden eyes, his curling mouth, the darkness in his face when he'd lunged for Alana, for Hannibal.

"Figured you might. We can drive there together."

"Excellent. I'll see you soon, Jack."

"Goodbye, Doctor Lecter. I'll be there within the hour."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's go see Charlie :D

Jack picks him up. The drive to the hospital where Mister Brooks is being held is four hours from Baltimore without traffic, or so Jack tells him. He fills the first few minutes with an attempt at idle chatter, which Hannibal, while he does his best to engage, cannot pay attention to. Jack falls to silence quickly after, sensing Hannibal's dark thoughts.

"Chilton tells me Alana is with Will," he says.

Hannibal nods.

"How did the visit go, yesterday?"

"As I expected," Hannibal replies, though that's not quite true. He sighs. "He is very aggressive towards Alphas. Alana is under the impression that visiting him, alone, will allow him to thaw and settle down, since she poses no threat in his mind."

Jack makes a noncommittal sound.

"It will be hard to know for certain, until more tests can be run, but I wouldn't be surprised if he had become feral during his captivity. He was showing classic signs of it." Hannibal pauses, frowning. "Except vocalization. He spoke, and appeared somewhat lucid when he did so."

Jack glances at him, eyebrows raised. In feral Omegas and Alphas, their ability to communicate with words is usually the first thing to go.

"What did he say?"

Hannibal shakes his head. "If it's alright, Jack, I'd rather not talk about it." He can feel Jack frowning. "I need to…think. To analyze. I don't like giving half-cocked diagnoses."

"Sure," Jack says, somewhat flippantly. He leans forward and turns on the radio. It's a praise and worship station. Hannibal tilts his head to one side, and wonders if Bella makes him listen to it. Jack has never seemed particularly religious to him. But perhaps they could do with a little bit of prayer, of divine intervention.

He turns his thoughts away from that, unwilling to give the energy to ask. Instead, he settles his thoughts inward, walks through the entrance of his mind palace and to the wing where he keeps Alana, where he kept Will. The stone fortifications surrounding his memories of Will lie in ruins at his feet, as though battered down by a catapult against a castle. He seeks the Omega within the ruins, but cannot find him.

For Will is not here. He's somewhere else, probably re-inserting himself into every room and every memory contained within Hannibal's mind palace. His mate has always been particularly invasive like that. He touches, scent-marks, colors Hannibal's every thought. Or he did, for a time, before…before everything.

Hannibal closes his eyes, sighs, and sits on a bench amidst the ruin and rubble. It is a bench like the one by a lake, Lake Braddock, in Virginia, where Will took him and Alana fishing once. Tries to focus, to think on his emotions. If there is any hope of helping Will, of bringing him back into Hannibal's home, of loving him as they once did, Hannibal must first come to terms with how he is feeling. It is only fair – this situation will be chaotic at best, disastrous at worst, and Hannibal cannot afford to be another variable of instinct and aggression when his and Alana's focus must be on Will. He cannot worry his wife, cannot bear to see her tensed and under strain from both her mates.

So, he sits. And thinks.

There is rage. Oh, there is rage. It boils in his stomach, sours his blood. Rage at the nameless, faceless captor who took Will away from him, who locked him up and abused him in ways Hannibal is about to learn the intimate details of. On the crest of it, a softer, cutting anger.

Anger at Jack, for putting Will in dangerous situations for his job. Anger at Chilton, for holding Will prisoner now. Anger at himself.

Now that he knows the truth of Will's disappearance, he cannot reconcile his own behavior. Hannibal has hunted down far worse for far less – even, once, chased a man all the way to Texas because he was abusing his Omega, and Alana saw it. Pointed Hannibal towards him. He could not bring the body back, at the time, but had made sure to remember each detail, so that he could see the visceral satisfaction on Alana's face when he returned.

He should have kept looking. For any other slight, Hannibal would have torn the world apart to find Will, to bring him home, to demand he look in Alana's eyes, in Hannibal's eyes, and tell them why he left. _They could fix this_ , he would have said. Or, perhaps, _How dare you? How dare you give us your love and your life and take it away? It is only mine to take away._

And yet he hadn't. He'd looked, of course, gone through proper channels and procedures. He was too close to the case, he'd told himself, in a voice that sounded much like Will's. Too close, too intimately linked to it. If Will went missing, and then turned up dead, there could be nothing that brought his death back to Alana or Hannibal.

And yet, as he thinks that, as he drags his knuckles through the dust of fallen stone, he knows that is not why he left the search unfinished.

So, why?

 _Love_ , something tells him.

 _Alana_ , another voice says.

In truth, it had taken almost three days before they realized Will was gone. Will still kept his home, with his dogs, still maintained his independence because his willful, beautiful Omega was not something that should be caged, or collared. Not something to be restrained, but allowed to run wild – through fields, through crime scenes, through heart and home. Hannibal had often entertained thoughts of taking Will hunting with him, one day.

 _Then_.

Something stirs in the recesses of his mind, some long-forgotten presence that is memory and light. In reality, Hannibal opens his eyes and stares out the window, unseeing. In his mind palace, he turns and lifts his head, breathes in deeply the distant scent of mint and lemongrass, of dogs and storm-heavy air.

Will stands before him. Not wild, not broken as he had in Chilton's cell. His eyes are the same ocean-glass he remembers, ringed with gold to turn them green in the center instead of the all-consuming, glowing color they had been when Hannibal looked upon him last.

Will smiles at him, steps forward, settles cross-legged in front of Hannibal like a child. He doesn't speak.

It was Alana who called off the hunt. "If this is what he wants, let him be happy," she'd said. Perhaps she had sensed the growing madness biting at the back of Hannibal's neck, the outrage, the insult, coloring his eyes perma-red and making him short with her, showing teeth, rough with her in their marriage bed. Hannibal will never forgive himself for the time he bit her, tore her neck open like she was Omega. He'd bitten her on their wedding night, as is tradition, but that is the only bite women are supposed to receive. They don't have the pressure points there, the placated reaction to being bitten and mounted like Omegas do.

He looks at Will, looks at his neck, marred with bruises from many bites, many suck-kisses and presses of his hand. Will likes a hand at his neck, more than the rest of his breed, if Hannibal were to guess. Will is, of course, the only Omega he's been with, but there are certain things Hannibal senses Will craves – roughness, brutality, fangs.

Will tilts his head, fingers flexing. Smiles, showing his teeth.

At the sight of him, smiling like that, Hannibal's chest grows too warm, his head too hot. His eyes itch, and he sits forward, elbows to knees, and rubs his hands over his face.

He hears Will's laughter, a distant echo of memory that feels so flat and lifeless, and raises his eyes, finds Will still smiling, head tilted up to meet his gaze.

"Speechless, Doctor Lecter?" he purrs.

Hannibal presses his lips together, swallows. "Why didn't I look for you?" he whispers.

Will tilts his head to one side, draws in a breath, drops his eyes. The perfect picture of sweet submission, exposed throat and deferential gaze. "You thought I left of my own free will," he replies, and Hannibal nods. It seems idiotic, now, utterly foolish. For hadn't they been happy? Didn’t Will love them?

"I feel…" Hannibal stops, tries to find the right word. Angry? Of course. Stricken? Undoubtedly. "Betrayed," he finally settles on.

Will blinks at him, smiles faintly. Sadly. "By me?" he asks.

Hannibal presses his lips together, rubs his hands over his face again. "I don't think I can place the blame on you, anymore," he says, as honest with his thoughts as he can be. This is, after all, not the real Will. Even as he thinks that, his hindbrain rebels, for his mate is here, he's been _found_ , and Hannibal knows where he is. Can go to him, can see him and scent him, can hear the real sound of Will's voice, see his real form. Not this empty facsimile from happier times.

"It's easy to put the blame on others," Will tells him. "On me, on Jack. The person who took me." He pauses, eyes flashing to Hannibal's, then away. "On Alana, or yourself."

"I should have looked for you better."

Will shrugs one shoulder. "You did what you could."

"No," Hannibal says, shaking his head. "I didn't."

"No," Will murmurs, and his voice sounds like Alana's. "You didn't."

Hannibal sighs, deeply, one single inhale that he lets out over the span of several seconds.

He looks up at the sound of movement. Will slides closer, onto his knees, and crawls to Hannibal's feet. He sets his hands on Hannibal's knees and rests his chin on the back of them, blinking up through the mess of his wild hair. Hannibal's fingers clench, resisting the urge to push it away from his face.

He sighs again, manages a small smile. "I can't be objective about this," he murmurs.

Will huffs, rolling his eyes. "I don't think anyone expects you to be."

"But I must," Hannibal replies. "I can't be a good Alpha for you and a good psychiatrist at the same time."

Will blinks, frowns, his brow furrowing just for a moment. He licks his lips, curls his fingers and ducks his head to rest his cheek on his knuckles. He sighs. "Maybe you can't," he murmurs, conceding. "But that doesn't mean you can't try. Of course, you're going to try." He huffs, smiling again, a faint upward curl to his mouth. "You're hard to dissuade, in that regard."

"Alana thinks it would be foolish to try," Hannibal says, smiling.

"It is foolish," Will says, rolling his eyes. "Incredibly foolish."

Hannibal loses the fight with himself, then, and leans forward, threading his fingers through Will's hair. It's soft to the touch, just as he remembers it, and curls between his fingers as he pets it from Will's face, exposing his eyes, making him lift his head. He sighs, leans in and rests their foreheads together.

"I missed you so much, darling."

Will hums, smiling, bites his lower lip. Then, he blinks, and straightens.

Jack's voice; "Doctor Lecter, we're here."

Hannibal blinks, shifting his focus back to the here and now. The hospital they're approaching is a building of red brick, sitting starkly between grey clouds. It is a severe-looking building, and doesn't look welcoming in the slightest.

He nods as Jack drives into the parking lot and parks, and they both get out. Jack has his FBI badge clipped to the pocket of his suit jacket, and Hannibal puts his hands in his coat, fingers curling as he follows Jack into the building.

Jack walks onward, confident in the direction he's heading. They go to the third floor, using the elevators, and the doors open to reveal a long, barren-looking corridor. It's clear this particular ward is for special cases – most of the doors are lacking windows to see through, and are closed to prevent wayward eyes looking in. There is an agent posted outside one such door, looking stern. She's female, which Hannibal notes only knowing what he knows of Mister Brooks' case. He had, until recently, been in heat, after all.

"Agent Moore," Jack greets with a nod. She looks to him, lips thinned, eyes sharp and dark. "What news?"

"Doctors cleared him this morning," she replies. "He's out of heat, and lucid enough. He's being kept here while they locate next of kin."

Jack nods, clearing his throat. "Have you been told of any adverse reactions to Alpha staff?" he asks, and Hannibal presses his lips together, thinking of Will.

She blinks at them, and shakes her head.

"Alright. Doctor Lecter," Jack says with a nod, and skirts past her as she steps to one side. Hannibal follows him into the room. It's well-lit, welcoming enough for what it is. It's a private room, a curtain around the bed pulled back. The Omega in the bed is thin and gaunt-looking, with I.V. drips hooked to the back of his hand to supply nutrients, and a heart monitor quietly beeping away. Hannibal swallows, his nose stinging at the scent of an Omega who was so recently and unnaturally pulled out of heat, combined with the subtly sick smell of a body dehydrated and filthy. He's been cleaned, and is sitting mostly upright on a veritable horde of pillows. He's been given blankets, heavy and blue. Blue is a soothing color for Omegas, and the nest-like setup of the bed makes Hannibal smile.

"Mister Brooks?" Jack hazards, and the Omega turns to look at them. Hannibal blinks.

He looks…very much like Will. Younger, and thinner, elfin. But with dark, unruly hair. Piercing blue eyes. Perhaps this captor has a type.

He licks his lips, eyes darting nervously between Hannibal and Jack, before he manages a weak smile. "That's me," he replies.

Jack nods. "I'm Agent Crawford with the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit. This is Doctor Lecter," he adds, gesturing to Hannibal. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind, Mister Brooks."

"Please," the Omega says, lifting his hand. "Charlie's fine."

Hannibal smiles. Charlie's eyes flash to him, then away, and he clears his throat, taking in a deep breath and shifting his weight. His hand drops to the blankets, pulling them up around his flanks, and he shifts his weight to sit up straighter. Jack and Hannibal maintain their distance, not wanting to crowd him, though Hannibal has to say that, on first appearance, Charlie looks much better off than Will. He's thin, and weak, and undoubtedly traumatized, but when he looks to Jack again, there's no fear. No outward anger that lacks direction and comes from pure instinct. Whatever happened to them, Charlie was able to maintain some sense of reality that was denied Will.

"Charlie, then," Jack says with a nod, his expression softening. He looks to a chair by Charlie's IV drip. "May I sit?"

Charlie nods, and rolls onto his side as Jack takes a seat by his bed. Hannibal stays back.

Jack flips open a notebook. "Do you know how long you were kept in that holding cell?" he asks.

Charlie sighs. "The nurses told me the date. I remember being – I was taken about four years ago," he says. Jack nods, writing that down.

"Do you remember anything about that day?"

"I was coming back from the grocery store," Charlie says. He sounds like he's memorized this story, perhaps repeated it to himself when times grew dark. Hannibal tilts his head to one side – he's so calm, not even his scent betraying any distress. "When I got home, there was someone in my house. I didn't see her face."

Jack pauses, frowning. "Her?" he repeats.

Charlie nods. "There was a female there," he says. "A female and an Alpha. I think they were married. I'm not sure. They kept me blindfolded, a – a hood, over my head. I couldn't take it off."

He blinks, wincing at the memory, his scent turning momentarily sour.

Hannibal steps forward. "You're safe here, Charlie," he says, trying to make his voice soft, soothing. Charlie nods, opening his eyes. He looks to Hannibal, and blinks again, frowning.

"Lecter," he murmurs, softly. Then he sits up. "You're Will's mate."

Hannibal blinks, taken aback despite himself. "He told you about me?" he asks.

Charlie nods, frantically, like it has become of the utmost importance that he talk to Hannibal. "He told us about you, and about…Alana?" He stumbles over the name, and Hannibal nods, smiling. "He was the first one there – the other two, they…" He stops, winces again. "They came later. Every third heat."

"Every third heat," Jack repeats. Hannibal notes this, absently. Omegas tend to go into heat every three months.

Charlie nods. "I, ah, I had ovarian cancer when I was a teenager," he says. "Took them both out. But I could still go into heat. When I couldn't get pregnant, the female brought another Omega. Then a fourth, when he got pregnant."

Hannibal bristles, forcing himself to acknowledge what he had already suspected; this couple, this Alpha and female, had been taking Omegas to breed. When Will didn't go into heat, they took Charlie. When he couldn't get pregnant, they took another. And another.

"Did they all look like you?" he asks. "Like Will?"

Charlie nods, swallowing harshly. He looks away.

Hannibal looks at Jack, and says gently; "They were seeking a certain genetic look," he murmurs. Jack nods, his expression dark. "Were you all kept in the same rooms?"

Charlie nods again. "We, ah, all our cages could connect. When the Alpha wasn't around, we could talk to each other, and nest together. But when, when one of us went into heat, he ordered us to separate so that he could…"

So that he could.

Hannibal fights down his snarl.

Jack is frowning. Hannibal understands why – if pregnancy was the goal, it makes no sense why the Omegas were so malnourished and dehydrated. And Charlie has told them one of them _was_ pregnant.

"Did the pregnant Omega give birth?" he asks.

Charlie closes his eyes, an expression of deep pain crossing his face. He nods. "His name was Gregory," he murmurs. "He gave birth to a boy. Then the couple took his baby and they…they left. When we were found, none of us had been visited for almost four months."

Hannibal blinks. That would explain their incredibly neglected state. "How did you stay fed, and watered?" he asks.

Charlie lets out a soft sound, lifting his knuckles to his mouth and biting down. His eyes, when he opens them, are bright with tears. He swallows harshly and looks to Hannibal, and his scent has grown incredibly saccharine, with pain, with anxiety. "Will," he replies.

Hannibal takes another step forward, until he's at the foot of Charlie's bed on the opposite side of Jack. "What did Will do?"

Charlie's eyes flash to Jack, wide, then back to Hannibal. "I don't want to get him in trouble," he says.

"Will isn't in trouble," Jack murmurs, eager to placate. His fingers twitch from his notebook, settle on the edge of the blankets. It would be improper for Jack to physically placate him, though Hannibal can tell he wants to. "I promise, Charlie, he's not. We're just trying to find the people who did this."

Charlie swallows. "He'd – his cell was near a wall. When it rained, water would gather. He would give it to us. And when we were hungry, we…" His eyes fill with tears, and he sobs again, rubbing both hands over his face.

"Do you need a moment?" Hannibal asks.

Charlie takes in a shuddering breath, nodding.

"I'll get you some water," Jack says, standing. Charlie gives him a soft sound of thanks, and Jack looks meaningfully to Hannibal before he leaves.

Hannibal understands. He should keep pressing.

"What did he do, Charlie?" Hannibal asks, one more step up the bed. Charlie looks at him, wide-eyed. The tears have started to run down his slim cheeks, pale lines amidst red. "I'm not with the FBI, and if you know who I am, you know I have no intention of seeing Will come to harm for what he had to do for you to survive."

Charlie swallows, and Hannibal smiles. Lets himself purr.

"Tell me."

Charlie lets out a weak noise. "He gathered us all together," he murmurs, meeting Hannibal's eyes, then away. "In his cell, so we could have water. But we were so hungry, and Gregory was – he was close to death. Too weak from giving birth, and he -. He died first."

Hannibal nods.

"The other Omega, his name was David. He suggested we -." Charlie winces. "He said we should eat him." Hannibal blinks, head tilting. "Will gutted him. Gregory. Fed us his, oh _God_." He presses his knuckles to his mouth again, dry-heaving. "We fucking _ate_ him. Ate his liver, his, his kidneys. Will told us what was safe to eat. Told us he would go hunting with you, so he knew what was safe. Sewed him back up to make it look like a c-section."

Hannibal's expression doesn't change, but inside he is _glowing_ with pride. His clever boy.

"He was already dead," Charlie says quickly, reaching out and catching Hannibal's hand in both his own. "Please, he was already dead, okay? It wasn't – it wasn't _murder_. We just had to survive."

"It's alright, Charlie," Hannibal purrs, pulling Charlie's hand up and kissing his own knuckles over it, careful not to touch the Omega's skin with his lips. "You did what you had to do, and so did Will."

Charlie nods frantically, and they part as Jack returns to the room. He hands Charlie a cup of water and the Omega takes it with shaking hands, drinking it all down in three large gulps. He sighs, and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. "Thank you."

"So, this couple," Jack says, sitting down again. "Did they ever call each other by name?"

Charlie shakes his head. Then, he frowns. "They never kept Will hooded," he tells them. "He'd take mine off when it was just us, but they hooded everyone else. He'd be able to identify them, I'm sure."

Hannibal presses his lips together, humming in thought. "It's interesting," he tells Jack. "There must be something wrong with the Alpha, besides the obvious. Will is on birth control, and Charlie, here, as you said," he adds with a nod to the Omega, "cannot bear young."

"What are you saying?"

"Perhaps this Alpha lacks the ability to tell when an Omega is fertile. And the female, of course, wouldn't be able to."

There is also the point to consider that there might be something wrong with either of them genetically, to seek breeding stock elsewhere.

Jack nods, considering that. "And you say he left with Gregory's child?" he asks, and Charlie nods. "About four months ago?" Another nod. Jack notes it down. "That will narrow down our search." He stands, and holds out his hand to shake. "Thank you, Mister Brooks. You've been a great help. Is there anything else we can do for you?"

Charlie hesitates, eyes flashing to Hannibal, then back to Jack.

"I have a wife," he says. "We weren't legally allowed to marry, before I was taken, but she's my everything." Hannibal sighs, inwardly. Unfortunately, the law doesn't allow marriage between a woman and Omega unless there is also an Alpha present. Something about an archaic law regarding legitimate children. Barbaric, in his opinion. "Her name is Rosanna Price. She lives in Philly. Will you – will you find her? Tell her I'm here?"

"Of course," Jack replies. "I'll have my team make some calls. We'll find her for you."

Charlie smiles, his entire demeanor softening, as he relaxes back into his nest. He shakes Jack's hand and curls up among the blankets. "Thank you."

"Thank you for your time, Charlie. We wish you a speedy recovery," Hannibal says, and he follows Jack out of the hospital wing, past Agent Moore, and towards the elevators. "That was certainly enlightening."

"I'll say," Jack replies, expression dark. "It bothers me that they didn't keep Will blindfolded, or hooded."

"Perhaps they intended to form a triad, initially," Hannibal suggests, inwardly growling at the idea. But it is one he must address; "If they managed to brainwash Will and coerce him into being with them consensually – as consensually as that situation would allow – then he would have to see them. To bond with them."

"He spoke about Will as though he was lucid," Jack growls. "What the Hell happened between then and now to turn him feral?"

"I don't know, Jack," Hannibal replies honestly. He sighs. "Charlie told me that they stayed alive by eating the innards of one of the Omegas, after he'd passed. They likely did the same with the second, once it was just the two of them."

Jack blinks at him, eyes wide.

"It was a matter of survival," Hannibal says coolly.

"I…I know that," Jack says. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "Of course. Will's always been resourceful."

Hannibal smiles. "Indeed."

"Maybe the loss of the kid triggered him," Jack suggests. "Kept in close quarters like that, nesting, the Omegas must have bonded with each other. Maybe Will saw the baby as one of his own." He looks at Hannibal, who keeps his expression purposely smooth. Maternal instinct is always a touchy subject, especially between Alphas and Omegas who do not have children of their own.

Instead, he smiles. "Perhaps."

"I'll compile a list of possible suspects. It's clear we're looking for an Alpha and a woman, with an infant no older than six months," Jack says. "And you're right – one or both of them will probably have blue eyes, dark hair. That'll narrow it down further. If we can get some photos, maybe Will can identify them."

"A fine idea," Hannibal replies. He checks his watch – it's just past two in the afternoon. He wants to call Alana, but doesn't want to while Jack is around. "When we return, I will speak with Alana and see if she has managed to make any breakthrough with Will."

Jack nods, and Hannibal regards him.

"We will find them, Jack," he says. He let one hunt fall by the wayside before, and will live with the consequences of that. But he will not do it a second time.

Jack nods, expression grim, like he knows exactly what Hannibal is thinking. "Yes," he says darkly. "We will."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a bitch and a half, I'll tell you that, but I hope you guys like it!

When Jack drops Hannibal off at his home, Hannibal enters to find Alana already in the kitchen. She has a tall glass of beer in her hand, and judging by the flush on her cheeks, it's not her first. Her shoulders are tense, one arm folded across her chest to rest her fingers in the crook of her opposite elbow, dark eyes focused somewhere amidst the countertop covering the kitchen island.

She looks up when he enters the room, and swallows, managing a weak smile. Hannibal returns it, can see in the lines around her eyes and the deep furrow in her brow that, whatever she had been thinking about, it hadn’t been pleasant. It may require him to imbibe.

But he goes to her, first, takes her bent elbow and draws her in for a chaste, light kiss. She relaxes, somewhat, at his touch, and her smiles softens, turning more genuine. "How was Pittsburg?" she asks him, as he withdraws, opens the fridge, and takes out a bottle of white wine.

He opens it before he answers, pouring himself a glass well past half-full.

She raises an eyebrow as he seals the bottle and sets it on the counter. "That bad, huh?"

Hannibal sighs, rubs a hand over his mouth and takes a drink. "It was certainly enlightening," he tells her. She hums, swallowing again, and takes a long pull from her glass. "Have you eaten?"

She lifts one shoulder. "Some," she says. "I'm not hungry."

He nods, accepting that. Truthfully he's not sure he could stomach anything right now, either. "Shall we sit?"

She nods, and leads the way into the dining room. Hannibal sits at the head of the table, Alana to his left. It's Will's usual spot – _was,_ was his usual spot, before he disappeared. It allows sight lines to the entrance to the hallway, and the kitchen. Will was always a creature who needed his back to a wall, and would only bare the back of his neck to his Alpha, to his wife.

 _Is_ still that creature, having grown talons and spines.

He wonders whether he should ask her, first, or whether she will want to ask him. Their silence settles heavy on their shoulders, like leaden weights, and Hannibal wants to move, wants to stand and pace, wants to also sit, and drink, and drink, until that wine bottle is empty. Perhaps through a second.

He takes a sip, forces himself not to gulp or swallow too much. Sets his glass back down.

Alana sighs, leaning forward so her elbows are on the table, fingers of one hand idly tracing the rim of her glass, other hand tangling and absently twisting a lock of her hair. "What did you find out, there?" she asks.

Hannibal sighs, heavily, through his nose. He shakes his head. "I do not believe Will was sexually abused," he says.

She flinches, gritting her teeth. "Does that matter?"

"I imagine it matters a lot to him," Hannibal replies mildly. Not scolding, for he knows what she's trying to say about clumsy words – does it matter, because he was abused nonetheless, _and we didn't look for him, Hannibal._

She swallows, squares her jaw and nods once, sharply. "You're right," she murmurs. Then, she sighs, and takes another drink. "What else did you learn?"

"Something I already suspected – the other survivor, Charlie, he informed me and Jack that there was a female and an Alpha, that they were his captors. It explains why Will was potentially hostile towards you, when you approached him."

Alana frowns, nodding, her expression purposely blank but her eyes unfocused, deep in thought.

But she is attentive, listening; "Charlie also told me that Will was the first one taken," he tells her. "Of the four. When Will did not go into heat, Charlie was taken, and when he didn't get pregnant, a third Omega. Then a fourth, when that one got pregnant. The Alpha and female took the child and abandoned them to their fate, which is why they were in such a sorry state when they recovered."

Alana frowns, eyes snapping to him. "But that…"

Hannibal tilts his head, smiling faintly, practically able to see the wheels turning in her head.

"That timeline doesn't make sense," she says. "It's been five years – they might have given Will six months, just to be sure, before taking a second Omega, but if _that_ Omega went into heat, they may have tried several rounds before seeking a third. By the most liberal of estimates, the third one would have gotten pregnant within three years."

"I considered that," Hannibal murmurs. "There was no evidence of any other children. But that doesn't mean they weren't there. Charlie didn't mention any others making it to term, but if they did, it's likely they were seeking a particular result and kept trying until they achieved it."

He purposely avoids thinking about what that might mean. What the fates of the other children were, if the Omegas had any.

"Could the Alpha not smell that Will was infertile?" Alana demands. "Your breed can detect that kind of thing, can't you?"

Hannibal nods. "I hypothesized that there's something wrong with the Alpha, something in his physiology, rendering him unable to sense things like that," he says. "He took mated Omegas – at least, Will and Charlie both had significant others. They were also…remarkably similar, physically." Alana blinks, her cheeks coloring with outrage, and she takes another drink. "Perhaps the fact that they were mated at all was enough for him to assume they were each able to bear young."

She nods, swallowing loudly.

"Did you spend the whole day with Will?" Hannibal asks, his stomach clenching harshly at her nod. It's not jealousy, he tells himself, but that would be a lie; it aggravates him to no end to not be able to see his mate, to not try and assert his own presence in an attempt to soothe him. It's wrong, it's _unnatural_. He should be there. He should get to see Will. "Did you learn anything?"

She sighs, and shakes her head. "For the first hour or so he just kept…pacing. I felt like I was watching someone learning how to move within their own body. Like he'd forgotten. He didn't react to anything – my voice, or food when it was brought. It was like he didn't even notice."

He can hear the sadness in her voice, and he sighs, leaning forward to take her hand from her hair, lacing their fingers together. "I'm sorry, my love," he says, and he means that genuinely. It is utterly heartbreaking, to look upon someone so loved and receive no recognition or acknowledgement in return.

Her eyes brighten, tears welling up, and she takes another drink. Her glass is almost empty, and her fingers shake between his, tighten. "I did something stupid," she murmurs.

Hannibal tilts his head, frowning.

"He just…he wouldn't _do_ anything," she says, and looks to him, helpless and wide-eyed. "I called Chilton down. I just wanted to see him react. I wanted _something_. And he…"

Hannibal waits, but it's as though she cannot speak. Her words stutter and stall, turn to ash on her tongue. Hannibal squeezes her hand. "What did he do, Alana?"

"He rushed Chilton, tried to attack him. I knew he would – I was so fucking _stupid_." She pulls her hand from Hannibal's, wipes at her wet cheeks. "He cut himself on the slats, trying to break through them. There was so much blood."

Hannibal's upper lip twitches, and he stifles his growl.

"He's alright," Alana murmurs, shaking her head. "Didn't even seem to notice. Chilton sedated him, and he slept the rest of the time. I just… _God_." She wipes at her face again, her inhale uneven and shuddering. "It was stupid of me. I just wanted to get him to…just fucking _look_ at me."

"Did he?" Hannibal murmurs.

She shakes her head, lets out a weak sound.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, hoarse and low. She tips her head back and finishes the rest of her beer, setting the glass down with a soft thud. "I know it was stupid, and I'm not going to pull a stunt like that again. I can't bear to see him hurt."

Hannibal nods, presses his lips together and sits back with a sigh, sipping his wine. Alana's interactions with Will were not as fruitful as he'd hoped, but Hannibal has more information now. He could tell Alana; give her the names of the other Omegas, try and see if Will reacts to any of them. He should.

But he knows he won't. Knows he will visit Will himself. He has to.

"The Omega that gave birth died shortly after," he tells her. "Will kept the rest of them alive, though the fourth ended up perishing. He protected them until the end."

She manages a weak smile. "That sounds like him."

"Charlie also told me and Jack that they did not keep him blindfolded, like the rest of the Omegas were. He will be able to identify the female and the Alpha, should we provide pictures of them."

She looks to him, eyes wide and wet, shining with tentative hope. "That's…good, right?"

Hannibal smiles. "We both know that it is only part of the equation, but yes, I believe it's a step in the right direction. I believe, given the physical similarities between the Omegas, that at least one of them has blue eyes and dark hair. And they're traveling with at least one child, a boy, no older than six months."

She swallows, her expression turning strangely tense. Her eyes dart away, then back to him, and she lets go of her glass and runs her fingers through her hair. "Maybe that's what he saw," she murmurs. "Not me, but the person who looked like me."

Hannibal sighs through his nose, and nods. "Perhaps."

Her eyes darken, and she clenches her jaw. She reaches out to Hannibal again, takes his hand. "You'll find them, won't you, Hannibal?" she asks. "Tell me you'll find them. You'll hunt them down."

Hannibal smiles. He shows his teeth, and lets out a purr; "I swear it, my love."

 

 

Hannibal waits until Alana is asleep. Then, he rises, dresses, and drives to the Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

Chilton is there, like he was expecting Hannibal. His face is pale and drawn, and he gives Hannibal a nod, hands him the remote to move the slats of Will's enclosure without a word, and lets him into the long cement hallway where Will is being kept.

He can see Will, sitting with his back to the far wall, pressed up tight to the plastic screen of his cage. There are bloodstains on his chest and around his hands – they were likely unable to wash him, though he has a new set of scrubs that are unmarred – and he lifts his head at the sound of Hannibal's approach. His nostrils flare, chin tilted up, and he lets out a snarl of warning, scrabbling to his feet.

Hannibal comes to a stop outside the cage, hands in his pockets and absently thumbing the remote as he watches Will stand, prowling against the outside like a caged tiger. His shoulders are up, teeth bared in a snarl, and he finds the small rip in the film that he made before, eyes narrowed and glowing golden as he peers through it.

He shoves his hands against it, and gives a rumbling, threatening growl. Hannibal smiles at the sound of it.

"Hello, Will," he says.

Will flinches at the sound of his voice, snarling again, and pushes his forehead against the screen like he might be able to physically force his way through. Then, he goes still, trembling with the desire to lunge, to rip and tear and see blood.

"I know your voice," he says, softly.

Hannibal tilts his head, and presses the button on the remote, allowing the slats to part. Will straightens, watches them move, and then his eyes land on Hannibal's, sharpen, and he bares his teeth again. Hannibal takes a step forward – still out of reach, he's not a fool – and Will's hands flatten on the side of the slats at chest height. He snarls, snaps his jaws together.

"You know a lot more of me than just my voice," Hannibal tells him. Will's eyes are dark, molten and glowing, and he jerks his head like Hannibal's voice is a fly buzzing at his ear. He's soaked with sweat, and it makes his hair and clothes cling to him, outlining the stark skinniness of his malnourished body. "Do you know who I am?"

" _Alpha_ ," Will snarls. His fingers flex, curl, knuckles going white.

Hannibal sighs inwardly, but doesn't allow his expression to change. The stench of Will's aggression stings his nose, makes him want to snarl in return. But that will get him nowhere, and earn him no favors. Will has spent five years as a slave to an Alpha's whims, and now here he stands, trapped by another. It will be important for Hannibal to pose as a helping hand, a friend, someone Will can trust, if he is to ever get through to him.

So, he smiles, and keeps his voice gentle; "I spoke to Charlie," he says. Will's eyes snap to him, widen, and he snarls again, throwing himself against the slats in a vain attempt to reach Hannibal. His fingers swipe at the air between them, clawed and ready to tear. "He's safe," Hannibal adds, ignoring Will's attempts to hurt him. "He asked about you."

"What did you do to him?" Will demands. "I swear to God, I'll kill you if you touched him."

Hannibal's smile widens. "You care very deeply for him, don't you?" he asks. Will stops trying to claw him, deeming the effort to be in vain, and his hands curl around the slats instead, tearing at the film. Hannibal allows it, wonders if Chilton will try and replace it – if he'll have the stomach for it, when Will can see him, and lunges against the other side. "David, and Gregory, too."

"They're dead," Will hisses, cold. "They're dead because of people like you."

Hannibal raises his eyebrows. "Alphas?" he asks.

"I'll kill you," Will snarls. "I'll kill every single last one of you."

"Why?" Hannibal asks, taking a small step closer. Will's eyes rake down him, like he's measuring the distance again, like he's seeking every vulnerable point, every weak spot; Hannibal's neck, his knees, the soft underside of his arms. "What did I do to you, Will?"

Will blinks at him, nostrils flaring. He frowns, brow creasing as his head jerks. He puts one hand to the side of his head and lets out a soft, rough whine. It tugs at Hannibal's chest, makes his fingers curl. He wants to go to his mate, wants to soothe him, desperately.

Instead, he swallows, and asks again; "What did I do?"

"You _know_ what you did!" Will yells, slamming his hands against the slats and lunging against them with a snarl. Hannibal is surprised to see his eyes bright now, with tears. "You know what you did."

"I'm sorry, darling, I don't."

He doesn't mean to let the pet name slip, but slip it does. Will goes incredibly still at the sound of it, his eyes wide. He turns his head, sucks in a deep, shaky breath, presses his hands flat and bows his head between his shoulders like he's stretching, then straightens. When he looks to Hannibal again, his eyes are still that fierce, glowing cold, but his expression is softer now. Something much more familiar, much more like the Will Hannibal used to know.

He smiles, off-kilter, cheeks dimpling, and reaches forward with one hand, palm up. "I can show you," he purrs. Hannibal blinks, surprised at the abrupt change in demeanor. This Will is…borderline flirtatious. Will's smile widens, and he lets out a whine almost sweet – would be sweet, and plaintive, if he wasn't showing so many teeth. "It's okay. Come closer. I'll tell you."

Hannibal swallows, shakes his head. "Will," he growls.

Will's eyes flash, and his fingers curl into a fist. He snarls. "What, don't like your Omegas when they ask for it?" He spits the words, and Hannibal looks away, swallowing around the hard knot of outrage in his throat. _When they ask for it_. He can feel his control slipping, instincts too-long denied and that riotous coil of repressed emotion welling up in him. "I can't fucking breed, if that's what you're waiting for. I won't go into heat for you."

"That's not why I'm here," Hannibal snaps.

"Then _why_?" Will demands, incensed. Hannibal looks at him, finds him still smiling. There's a light in his eyes Hannibal knows well – it's something excited, anticipatory. It's the look he would get when Hannibal was about to leave for a hunt, the look he'd get when Hannibal went into rut, the once over their time together. Anticipation of a fight, of blood.

Will likes that Hannibal is upset. Likes him aggravated, pissed off.

In stark clarity, Hannibal recalls a conversation they had, so long ago. Will had come home with a bruise on his cheek and an order from Jack telling him to take a few days off while he recovered. When Hannibal had tended to him, Will had laughed it off, saying that it was a murderous Alpha who had tried to take a swipe at him. How Will had goaded him into it, without waiting for backup.

"I couldn't let him get away," Will had said. "Alphas are stupid when they're angry."

The man had been arrested, so Hannibal could not feed Will and Alana his meat, but he would have, if only to see that same light return to Will's eyes.

He swallows down his outrage, his anger, pushes it deep in his chest and fights the urge to snarl. Will is toying with him, goading him – why, Hannibal could not possibly say. He has theories, but not enough information or opportunity to test them.

He must try another approach instead;

"Why did they keep you?" he asks. Will blinks at him, head tilted. His upper lip curls, jaw bulging at the corners. "You're right – you're infertile. You couldn't give them children. So why keep you at all?"

"Why does anyone do anything?" Will snaps. "Because they can."

_"Why did you take his heart, Hannibal?" Will asked, the first time Hannibal brought a kill home to both of them. This was one of Will's, one of his murderers that he couldn't reasonably take care of on his own without garnering Jack's attention._

_"Because I could. A man like that has no need for one."_

"Is that why you let David and Charlie eat Gregory?" he asks. Will's eyes flash, and he snarls again. "There was no other option, was there? Eat or die. I imagine it was difficult, to convince them that you saw it as a means of survival. Not something you enjoyed."

"You have no idea what I was thinking when I did that," Will growls, fingers curling against the slats. The dried blood on his hands looks so dark, almost black. Then, he smiles. "You could let me out," he murmurs, purring the words. "You seem like a man who likes to play games. I can play along."

Hannibal shivers, stomach clenching unpleasantly at the sound of Will's sweet whine, for he knows it's not Will really saying it, but the creature he has become. A beautiful beast, driven only by instinct – but that instinct is telling him to kill, without remorse, without direction. It would be savagery, not art. Not justice.

"Come on, Alpha," Will whispers. "Don't you want to play with me?"

Before Hannibal can reply, his phone starts ringing. It's a shrill sound, and seems to visibly startle Will, who flinches with a growl and steps back from the wall. Hannibal takes his phone out of his pocket, seeing Alana's name flash across the screen.

He answers. "Hello."

Her voice is quiet, tense; "You're with Will, aren't you?"

"I'm afraid so."

" _Damn it_ , Hannibal," she says. She doesn't even sound angry – too tired, too resigned to be angry. "I thought you were going to let me take the lead on this one."

"If it's any consolation, I genuinely meant to, at the time."

She huffs. "Some consolation," she mutters. "I don't suppose I can convince you to come home, now?"

Hannibal sighs, checking the time on his watch. It's past one in the morning. He wonders if Will even sleeps anymore – he shows no sign of tiredness, adrenaline and aggression keeping him awake. And if he was sedated most of the day, he'll likely be up for far longer.

But this interaction has unsettled him deeply. He still doesn't know enough. "I'll be there shortly," he says, and hangs up.

Will has gone back to pacing, snarling to himself, ignoring Hannibal. Hannibal sighs, and closes the slats, noting that there is a large tear now in one of them, for Will to see back through. That does make him smile, and he turns away, heading back down the hallway and towards the entrance.

A voice stops him – high and sing-songed. "Doctor Lecter!"

He pauses, and turns to gaze upon an older Alpha, sitting placidly in his cell. His eyes are beady and sharp, and he smiles when Hannibal looks at him. "Good morning!" he crows, utterly delighted at having caught Hannibal's attention.

"Forgive me," Hannibal says mildly. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Of course! How rude of me." The Alpha stands, and offers his hand in a mocking attempt at a handshake. "Doctor Abel Gideon. Pleased to meet you."

"Gideon," Hannibal repeats. "I know your name."

Abel smiles, falsely humble. "Our reputations precede us," he says, and spreads his hands out wide in a gesture of welcome, more fake humility. "You'll have to excuse me. It's not often we get such a notorious psychiatrist here visiting a broken Omega boy."

Hannibal tilts his head, resisting the urge to snap some curt reply. "I'm sorry if I've offended you," he says instead, with a smile. "Some people are just more interesting to me than others."

Abel laughs. "Oh, I'm sure," he says, grinning now. He turns his head. His cell is next to Will's – they share one stone wall. "It's a good thing the walls here are so thick. I would fear for my life, otherwise."

Hannibal hums, rolling his shoulders. "I'm sorry you're in such discomfort," he replies. "Though, if you'll forgive my bluntness, it seems well-deserved."

Abel laughs again. "Yes," he murmurs, lifting his chin and setting his narrowed eyes on Hannibal again. "Everyone in here is getting exactly what they deserve."

Hannibal frowns, and looks towards Will's cell. Will is still pacing, and seems intent on ignoring both of them. Hannibal can still hear his snarls.

"What do you mean by that?" he asks, stepping closer.

Abel's smile widens, pleased at capturing Hannibal's attention. "You think sweet little Will only talks when there's someone listening? Oh, he has some mighty fine stories, Doctor Lecter. They're… _mouthwatering_. Truly remarkable."

Hannibal snarls. He knows he's being baited. He knows this man, this _Abel Gideon_ who so brutally slaughtered his wife and children, is one of those people who prides himself on being smarter and better than others. Truly the worst traits of all Alphas. And yet -.

"But it's late," Abel finishes, smiling widely. "I'm sure you're tired. And you need to get home to your wife."

Hannibal turns away, but not before he sees Will go suddenly, utterly still. He can feel Will's eyes on him as he leaves the hallway, hands the remote to Chilton, and does not flee, but walks with great purpose and speed out of the Hospital.

For the way Abel Gideon spoke sounded much like a threat. He would do well not to speak out of turn to Hannibal again.

 

 

Hannibal returns home, finds Alana up, waiting for him. She fixes him with her very particular brand of stern stares, both disappointed and sympathetic. Hannibal shakes his head, staying her tongue. He is in no mood to talk.

"I will rest a while," he says. "Then, I'm returning to Pittsburg. There is still too much we don't know, and Charlie is the only one who can tell us. If he's still there, I would learn from him."

She sighs, pressing her lips together, and nods. "May I join you?"

"Of course," Hannibal replies, for he expected as much. He joins her in bed, smiling when she allows him to pull her into a kiss. He pets through her thick, dark hair, sighs, allows her jasmine-vanilla scent to settle his nerves and cool his head. "Get some sleep," he tells her. "We'll leave first thing."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this should be the last chapter that doesn't actually have will in it. more charlie though! :D  
> mention of miscarriages for those sensitive to it (not Will or Charlie).

Hannibal wakes before Alana – though, can he really say he was asleep? Certainly, there were times his eyes were closed, and if he thinks to the hours between three and four, or four and five, he cannot recall any stimulus or sensation that would have labeled him awake. And yet, he did not dream, and does not feel rested, when she stirs at just past six, rolls into his arms, and blinks her eyes open, blearily. She is without makeup, her cheeks bearing a delicate flush from the warmth of Hannibal's touch on her. She sighs, nostrils flaring, half-remembered annoyance at his bullheaded actions the night before making her lips purse, her brow crease.

He smiles, and kisses her pouting mouth. "Good morning, sweetheart," he says, petting the clinging strands of her dark hair from her face. Her expression eases, gentles, and she smiles at him. "Would you like to eat before we go, or shall I pack something for the trip?"

Alana hums, considering it, and pushes herself upright, wild waves of her hair falling as a curtain and shielding her face. "I want to go as soon as we can," she says. Hannibal nods, rises, and heads to the bathroom while she goes to the dresser to pick out clothes. He brushes his teeth, showers quickly, and emerges to find her having picked out a suit for him to wear. They exchange smiles, kisses, and trade rooms, and Hannibal dresses as the shower starts for her, and goes downstairs.

He makes tea for both of them, a blend of mint, lemongrass, and green tea together, packs them into separate thermoses. Truthfully, he isn't hungry, his stomach knotted too tightly and the hour too early for him to want to eat. If either he or Alana get hungry, he's sure he could find somewhere suitable for them to grab breakfast, even if it won't be quite as good as something he might make at home.

He hears her heels, and turns, smiling when he sees her hair braided at one side to save her scalp from the pull of a ponytail as her hair dries. She's wearing a light blue blouse, straight grey suit pants that fall to past her ankles, showing only a slip of foot within pointed-toe heels that are shiny and faintly gold. Her belt is gold, too, and she's wearing a thin-banded gold watch Hannibal gave her for her birthday one year, and a blue stone on a thin golden chain around her neck, that matches her earrings.

He goes to her, presses her thermos into her hands, and kisses her gently. "Your palette is well-chosen," he tells her. It matches the sky-blue shirt she picked for him, the tie that's a swirl of gold and blue. The gold cufflinks, off-grey suit jacket and pants. Blue and gold are Omega colors, ones that soothe them, that promote trust and safety within them – blue, as it is calming and gentle a color anyways, and gold, because it is in the eyes of their kin.

She smiles, as of course she knows this as well, just as she knows red and purple and black are colors Alphas tend to gravitate towards. She takes a sip of tea, wincing at the heat, and Hannibal gathers his own thermos as Alana grabs her purse, and they head to the door, don their jackets, and exit the house. Hannibal locks the door behind him and follows Alana to his car.

They sit in silence for a while, as Hannibal leaves the parking space and drives down the road, turns and merges to the highway. No radio, just the thrum of the engine and, as they drive, the first spattering of rain as water hits the windshield. Hannibal turns on his wipers, turns on his lights, and sighs up at the storm clouds that darken the sky.

Alana shifts her weight and sips at her tea, idly pulling her braid free so her hair falls, damp and wavy, around her shoulders. "How did it go?" she asks. Hannibal smiles – he had been wondering how long it would take her to ask. "Last night, with Will?"

Hannibal considers the question. How _had_ it gone? Will is still aggressive, still very much wary of Alphas and willing to fight them on sight. Hannibal expected that, but the rest of it was…interesting.

"He said he knew my voice," Hannibal murmurs.

He feels Alana's eyes on him, glances briefly to her to see her frowning, worrying her lower lip. "That could be a good thing," she says, cautiously. Hannibal sighs and shakes his head. "Did he make any mention of the Omegas he was trapped with?"

Hannibal nods. "I told him I had gone to see Charlie. He replied with a threat that if I'd hurt him, he would kill me." Hannibal's fingers flex, tighten, and he sighs. "It's frustrating. At some point he lost his ability to tell enemy from friend – all Alphas are dangerous, in his eyes. And yet, he isn't feral. It's…it's something else," he finally says, growling in frustration. "I have been thinking, trying to find any case I have studied or news story I've heard that is even remotely similar, and I'm coming up with nothing."

"Me too," Alana murmurs, soft with concern. Then, she huffs. "Trust Will to never make things easy."

Unbidden, Hannibal's smiles, and his jaw relaxes with affection.

Then, he remembers Abel Gideon, and tension returns. "We may have a problem," he says. Alana looks to him again. "There was another prisoner who spoke to me, as I was leaving. He told me Will talks, when we're not there. He would not tell me what he said, but if Will mentions anything about our _diet_ …"

Alana hums, frowning deeply, and takes another drink of tea. Then, she says, "No." Hannibal blinks, but can't take his eyes from the road. "I don't think Will would do that. His self-preservation is still there. He knows better than to give away things like that."

Hannibal considers this, and must concede she is right – at least, he hopes she is right. He thinks of Will, how he'd trembled and looked so shaken when Hannibal called him 'darling'. How he'd tensed, when Gideon mentioned Alana. How he'd gone soft, coaxing, entreating Hannibal to play.

He shivers, showing his teeth.

Alana reaches out, touches his thigh gently. "I hope Jack gets some photographs together soon," she murmurs.

"As do I," Hannibal replies. He should tell Alana about Will's behavior – should, and yet hesitates. And tries to dissect the reasoning for it. For Alana is part of their triad, just as much as Hannibal and Will are. And yet, she is a woman. She doesn't have the biological, the instinctive urges in her that Will and Hannibal do. Cannot hear when Will whines, does not submit to Hannibal's Alpha Voice. And this is Will in pure instinct – instinct that only Hannibal can see.

She looks at him, and sighs. "You have that look on your face," she says, and gives him a faint smile when he glances at her.

His brows rise. "What look?"

"The look when you're trying to decide if you should tell me something. Or how to tell me something," she says. "I saw it when I first confronted you about hunting. When you wanted to mate with Will. When you were going to ask me to marry you."

He smiles. "I enjoy transparency, with you," he says. "With Will."

"It's important," Alana says with a nod. "But I won't push you. I know you'll tell me when you're ready."

Hannibal sighs. "There are…things that I saw, when I interacted with Will," he admits, swallowing and tightening his fingers on the wheel. He merges into the next lane, kicks the car up another ten miles per hour, falling in line with traffic – which is being kind, thankfully. He drives quickly and is glad they're missing the morning rush. "Things that I think he only showed me because of what I am."

She hums. "Alpha?"

"Yes," he says with a nod. He cannot help the edge of sorrow that creeps into his voice, feels her hand squeeze his thigh, and sighs again. He swallows, edges his teeth together, and says; "He tried to goad me into mounting him."

"What?" she asks, wide-eyed.

Hannibal nods. "He said that he blamed me for the deaths of the two Omegas. That it was my fault – whether he was seeing the Alpha that hurt them, or not, I cannot say. He told me I should let him go, that he wouldn't go into heat for me, and then he…" He stops, swallows again. "Then he tried to placate me. Coax me closer. I resisted, of course, but it troubles me, that he did that."

Alana swallows, loud enough for Hannibal to hear, and withdraws her hand, cupping both around her thermos as she takes another drink. Hannibal's own tea sits, untouched, in the cupholders between them, but the car is filled with the scent of mint and lemongrass – scents he has always attributed to Will.

"An Omega's most dangerous weapon is their fertility," she says. Hannibal remembers reading the paper she's citing. "He doesn't have a Voice anymore. Since he cannot compel you, seducing you would be the next obvious thing for him, instinctively."

Hannibal doesn't like that. Doesn't like that it's true – in theory.

Alana nods to herself. "I suppose it makes sense."

"It doesn't make sense," Hannibal snarls, more vehemently than he'd meant to. To her credit, Alana doesn't flinch, doesn't visibly react. She's been with him long enough to tolerate singular spikes in mood, waits for them to calm and settle again. "If he doesn't know me, doesn't recognize me, then there's no reason for him to try that."

Alana lets out a soft, almost amused hum. "It makes you uncomfortable," she says.

"Should it not?"

"I'm not saying that," she replies gently, reaching out to touch his thigh again. "I'm just trying to understand it all, I suppose."

"As am I," Hannibal murmurs, quiet and sad. He merges again, letting out a soft growl as the car in front of him slams on their brakes for no apparent reason – recalls, absently, Will complaining that people in the north of Virginia and Maryland can't drive worth a damn. The memory brings with it an echoing ache, and he sighs. "I am hoping Charlie can shed some more light on it."

Alana is quiet for a moment. Then; "You told me Will fed the other two with the Omega that died." Hannibal nods. "Charlie survived, but the fourth did not." She blinks, frowning, and swallows.

Hannibal tilts his head, picking up the absent trail of her thoughts. It raises a good question – if there was not enough food and water for the three of them, that means Will chose the other Omega to die, the newest one. Perhaps he did not feel as strong a bond with that one. Perhaps there was some other factor, a pre-existing physical defect that rendered him unfit to save. If the last one got pregnant as well, Hannibal doesn't think Will would do that. But there are so many unknowns, building up like bricks forming a great wall. If Hannibal lets it build, it will act as a barrier between him and Alana, and Will. He cannot afford to let that happen – must see it struck down and laid to waste like the remnants of the barrier in his own mind palace.

He takes one hand from the steering wheel and lays it over hers, squeezing gently. "Charlie is eager to help us," he says, seeking to reassure. "I'm sure he will answer any questions we might have as best he can. We can only hope it will be enough to shed some light, and guide us towards how to proceed."

Alana nods, shifts her weight, and turns her hand so their palms touch, their fingers lace. Hannibal smiles and lifts her hand, kissing her fingers.

 

 

Agent Moore is still standing outside of Charlie's room as Hannibal and Alana approach. She gives him a nod of recognition and Hannibal tilts his head. "Still defending your charge?" he asks.

She smiles at him, toothy and wide. "Agent Crawford wanted me here," she replies. "They're letting the Omega out today, but he wanted me to tell him if you showed up again."

Hannibal raises an eyebrow, and wonders how he has become so predictable. First Chilton, now Jack.

"But," Agent Moore adds, "maybe I was in the bathroom, and didn't realize you'd gotten here yet."

Hannibal gives her a grateful smile, and nods. "I appreciate it," he says, and Alana nods beside him, her hand squeezing Hannibal's tightly before they let go. Agent Moore nods, and steps to one side, allowing them into the room.

Charlie already looks much better, color returned to his cheeks, his eyes bright. His blankets still lay as a makeshift nest around his stomach and shoulders. He turns at the sound of them entering, eyes flashing with recognition and smiling in happy welcome, sitting more upright.

"Doctor Lecter!" he says, and his eyes flash to his side. His entire face softens, and he reaches forward, extending one hand. "You must be Alana."

Alana blinks, looking to Hannibal, and nods, letting him go and taking Charlie's hand in both of her own. She smiles, and Hannibal pulls out a chair for her to sit. He remains standing, at the foot of Charlie's bed. Charlie's scent no longer bears the chemical sharpness of an interrupted heat, and though the air reeks of plastic and medicine, underneath it all is Charlie's happy Omega scent. He smells of vanilla and woodsmoke, something outdoorsy and pleasant.

Charlie settles, still smiling, and looks between them. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon," he says.

Hannibal nods. "We wanted to ask you a few more questions, if you don't mind," he replies. "Not as investigators, but as Will's mates."

"Of course," Charlie says, nodding eagerly.

Alana leans forward, brushing the edges of Charlie's blankets in a gentle touch. "We want you to know that there are no secrets between us and Will," she says, heavy with meaning. "We know what he did, to help you survive. Nothing you say leaves this room."

Charlie's eyes darken, and he nods, pressing his lips together, scent turning saccharine for a moment in remembered pain. He takes a deep breath, kneads his fingers into his blankets above his thighs, and pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. "I understand."

"Good," Alana replies, smiling in that soft, motherly way she does. It's soothing – Hannibal sees Charlie's shoulders go lax in response to it, and the Omega lets out a soft, almost tentative purr.

And so begins the next stage; choosing where in the Hell to even start. Hannibal watches Alana's brow crease, her lips pressed tight together as she filters through the undoubtedly endless list of questions she has.

"Hannibal tells me that there was only one child, the entire time you were all there, that made it out alive," Alana begins. Charlie blinks, and nods. "Did the other two -?"

"David and Gregory," Charlie supplies. "Gregory's baby is the one they took."

Alana nods. "Did either of them have any other children, or get pregnant?"

Charlie winces, nodding. "Miscarriages," he says. "Too much stress."

Alana tilts her head, takes in another breath, and asks; "Was the female pregnant, during any of this time?"

The thought hadn't even occurred to Hannibal. Charlie tilts his head at her, frowning deeply. His eyes lift, searching his memory, before he shakes his head. "No," he replies. "She never smelled mated, or like sex. Will would…"

He trails off.

Alana leans forward, and Hannibal finds himself doing the same – though, he doesn't want to crowd, and corrects his posture quickly. "Charlie," she says gently, "I understand this is very hard for you, and I really appreciate anything you might be willing to tell me. We just need to understand what happened."

Charlie swallows, his fingers clenching. "I don't…" His eyes lift to Hannibal, wide and unsure. His scent has turned somewhat sour, almost afraid. Hannibal blinks, tilting his head. "I don't want to get Will in trouble."

"I promise," Hannibal says, firmly. "He won't be. I would never do anything to harm him."

Charlie huffs, upper lip curling back. "You say that now," he murmurs; a warning. He looks to Alana again, and the action bares his throat, instinctively placating Hannibal. Hannibal frowns, swallowing, doesn't like that Charlie is trying to soothe him before he's even said anything.

"I would hear him, sometimes," Charlie murmurs. "In the dark, when I was supposed to be asleep. Him and the female, talking to each other. He -." He winces, touching his neck – another placative gesture. Hannibal is starting to feel thoroughly distressed. "He offered to mount her, to give her a child, if that's what the Alpha wanted."

Alana's eyes widen, and she sits up straighter.

"I don't think he did," Charlie adds quickly, reaching out to her. "He loves you both so much, you're all he would talk about, until Gregory showed up." He swallows, eyes dark, and looks away. "He didn't say much, after that."

Alana's face is a soft mask of pain. She swallows, rubs her hands together, up her wrist, her nails catching on her watch. She sucks in a breath, and lets it out slowly.

Something occurs to Hannibal, then, and he frowns. "You were found because you went into heat," he says. Charlie's eyes snap to him, and he nods, sucking in a breath. "Was David…still alive? When you were found?"

Charlie flinches, and lets out a soft, pained whine that makes Hannibal's fingers curl, his chest growing tight.

"He said he'd make it better," Charlie whispers. "I was so hungry, and so afraid – without an Alpha I knew it would last ages, and it would hurt. And my heat might trigger David's, we all knew that. David offered to mount me, and Will – he told me to close my eyes. Told David we'd be alright, that Will would take care of us, and then -." He shakes his head. "I didn't watch."

"Did Will kill him?" Hannibal breathes.

"Yes," Charlie breathes, his eyes wet. He rubs both hands over his face, up through his hair, and shudders. "He said it was a mercy killing."

 _Oh, Will._ David's offer to eat a dead man was forgivable, but to mount and assault the Omega Will had clearly bonded with – that, that was something Will could not allow.

"But you didn't eat him."

Charlie shakes his head, lets out a quiet breath. He runs his hands through his hair, trembling, his scent thick with distress. "Just little pieces," he replies. "Will said he was sick, said the meat was -." He flinches, whining. "Said the meat was bad. I don't -." He looks at Alana, then Hannibal, eyes wide and panicked. "I don't know why he did it. David could have survived. He could have _lived_. I don't understand."

Alana sits forward, takes one of Charlie's hands and places it in her own. Her fingers run along the lines in his palm, over his wrist, and Charlie shivers, eyes going half-lidded at the placative touch. Alana used to do this for Will, when he was too stressed and too exhausted to speak, yet too wound-up to sleep. Hannibal's chest goes warm, seeing it.

"Alana and I visited Will, yesterday," Hannibal says. Charlie looks to him, lets out a soft whine. "He is worried about you. I think he would benefit from seeing you."

Charlie straightens, eager. "I want to see him," he replies with a nod.

Hannibal tilts his head. "Are you aware of…Will's condition, right now?"

Charlie frowns. "Condition?" he repeats.

Alana squeezes his hand, drawing his gaze. "Will is behaving as though feral," she tells him. Charlie blinks, brow creasing with worry, and bites his lower lip. "Did he give any indication that he was changing? Losing his sense of self?"

"No," Charlie replies, shaking his head. "No, he was the calmest of all of us. The most lucid, the most reasonable. He – everything he did, he did for a reason. The only time he got angry or aggressive was when the Alpha would show up, but even then, he was quiet when it was over. He just wanted to protect us." He pauses, licks his lips. "I truly believe that."

Alana smiles. "That sounds like him," she says gently.

"Would you like to see him?" Hannibal asks. "It's a long drive, but I'm sure we could arrange it. Has your wife come yet?"

Charlie nods, grinning. "She came by just before you were here. She's getting something from the cafeteria right now." His expression softens, a loving smile on his face. "Thank you for finding her."

"I shall pass your thanks along to Jack," Hannibal says, smiling. Charlie nods. "If you'd like, I can call Jack and arrange for him to bring you down. We can accommodate both you and Rosanna for as long as you'd like."

"Thank you," Charlie whispers, breathless with gratitude. His eyes shine, and none of the lingering worry and fear remains, now. He pulls his hand from Alana and adjusts his blankets. "I'd like to see Will. Maybe I can help him – he did so much for me. Because of him, I'm still alive. I can still help."

"Your efforts are greatly appreciated," Hannibal says kindly.

Alana nods, and stands. "We'll let you rest."

"Here," Charlie says. On a tray by his bed is the remnants of a finished meal, and a cell phone. He hands it to her. "You can call or text me any time, if you have more questions – and if I remember anything that might be useful, I'll reach out."

"Thank you, Charlie," Alana says, smiling in faint, happy surprise. She puts her and Hannibal's phone numbers in and hands the phone back. "I wish you a speedy recovery."

Charlie nods, and Hannibal takes Alana's hand and leads her out of the room.

Agent Moore is still there. She blinks at them, feigning surprise. "Oh, Doctor Lecter, what a coincidence seeing you here," she says brightly. "Agent Crawford will likely want to speak to you."

Hannibal smiles, teasing and wide. "Of course. I'd be happy to," he replies. She grins, winks at him and Alana, and they leave the area, heading towards the elevators. As they walk, Hannibal's chest starts to feel heavy, new knowledge catching up with him. He sees it mirrored in Alana's lowered brow, her dark eyes.

She sighs, humming when the doors close and they start moving down. "Every time I get a question answered, three more spring up in its place," she says.

Hannibal nods. If Will was still self-aware, enough to know bad meat, enough to coax David close to him and kill him, then it makes no sense why he's behaving the way he is now. Beverly had said he'd attacked an Alpha on sight, when they were recovered, but if Will was still himself then it makes no sense for him to do that. If Will is seeking answers, seeking a hunt, having himself locked up as potentially insane does him no favors.

"He might be faking it," Alana says, like she doesn’t want to admit it.

Hannibal tilts his head as the doors open, and they leave the hospital. "But why?" he asks. Yet, he thinks of how Will had reacted to Hannibal calling him 'darling', how he'd tensed when Gideon mentioned Alana. That speaks to self-awareness. And yet his scent cannot be faked, that feral-edged spice to him is genuine, Hannibal cannot imagine it as anything else.

Alana lets out a huff of frustration. "I don't know," she replies. "But Will is – Will is unpredictable at the best of times. He doesn't think like everyone else does." Hannibal nods. It's one of the reasons they love him so much – Will is always a delight, surprising when he should be predictable, veers left when everyone else goes straight.

"If he is faking it," Hannibal says slowly, mulling the words over before he gives them voice, "then there's a reason. Even if it makes sense only to him."

It occurs to him, with a shred of bittersweet humor, that Will would be the person he would ask, to dissect and explain the mindset of such a strange individual. Will uses his unique way of looking at the world as a weapon, a master forger that would only recognize his own brand of madness.

He pauses by the car, and stops Alana before she can circle to the other side. He draws her into his arms and puts his nose to her hair, hugging her tightly. She is a calming, soothing influence on him, and the riotous roll of his brain and his stomach needs her to ground him, before he can think on it further.

She clutches at him just as tightly, shoulders shaking as he nuzzles her.

Then, Hannibal's phone rings, and he parts from her with a sigh. It's Jack. "Hello, Jack," he says, and puts him on speaker.

"I have a folder of potential suspects," Jack says gruffly. "I'm going to Chilton's hospital."

Hannibal hums. "Will you wait for us?" he asks. "Alana and I have just been visiting Charlie. We have some insight that may prove useful."

Jack huffs, but he already knows where they are, if Agent Moore told him. "Alright," he says. "Hurry back. I want to get this done and over with before anything else happens."

Hannibal blinks, head tilting. "What happened?" he asks. Alana's eyes are dark, a deep, concerned frown on her face.

Jack sighs. "Will attacked someone," he says. "Put him in the I.C.U."

Hannibal's eyes widen. "How?" he demands.

"I don't know," Jack replies, snarling. "I don't know how he did it, and Chilton is being very closed-lipped about the whole thing. I'm going to find out when we get there."

"Who did he attack?" Hannibal asks.

"Another prisoner," Jack says darkly. "Abel Gideon."

Hannibal's eyes widen in shock. He clutches his phone tightly, clears his throat and tries to speak calmly; "Gideon is an Alpha," he says. Alana parts from him and they get into the car hurriedly. "It might have triggered Will's aggression."

"Like I said, I'll learn more when I get there," Jack replies. "Be here as soon as you can."

"I'll have Alana text you when we're close," Hannibal says. "We'll meet you there."

"Good."

Hannibal hangs up, starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. Alana's eyes are wide, her expression deeply troubled.

"I don't know," Hannibal says before she can ask. His hands are tight on the wheel, engine giving a complaining whine as he slams on the gas once they reach the highway and he merges into the fast lane. His chest is tight with anxiety, his head too-warm, his mouth dry. If Will is faking it, that means he's aware, he's self-aware, and felt the threat from Gideon just as Hannibal did. Manipulated someone, somehow, to give him access to his throat.

"I can't lose him again," Alana says, soft and thick with tears. She takes Hannibal's hand and squeezes it tightly. "I can't -. I can't do it, Hannibal."

"I know, my love," Hannibal replies, just as quietly, just as heartfelt. The thought of Will being ripped from them again, after so long separated, after this wild and terrible reunion – he's not sure either of them could recover from that.

He kisses her knuckles, and presses down harder on the gas. They don't say another word.


	6. Chapter 6

Hannibal parks the car outside Chilton's facility, and he and Alana hurry out. A storm has broken above their heads, pelts them with icy rain, and he shields her with his coat as they duck their heads and hurry up the steps to the front door.

Jack and Chilton are in the lobby area, and appear in the midst of exchanging heated words. Chilton's face is red, flaring and brightly clashing with his lavender suit. Jack, all in black, has red in his eyes. Hannibal straightens up, allows Alana to shake out her hair, and approaches them.

Before he can speak, he freezes. A scent hits him, wild, heavy. Familiar, somehow, like a song he heard in childhood playing from a distance room, urging him to follow it. He sucks in a breath and winces at the stench of it, sees Chilton and Jack's expressions tight with similar awareness. "What is that?" he demands, covering his nose.

Chilton fixes him with wild eyes. "Don't you recognize it?" he laughs, voice high and strained. " _That_ , Doctor Lecter, is the scent of your Omega in _heat_."

Hannibal's eyes widen, and beside him, Alana gasps. He slowly draws his hand from his mouth, lifts his chin, drags the scent over the roof of his mouth. It doesn't smell like any heatscent he has experienced before, though they have been very few, and never from Will. Will has always been on suppressant medication and birth control during the time he, Hannibal, and Alana have all known each other.

He takes another breath, presses his tongue behind his teeth, his mouth watering abruptly at the scent. It's sharp, mint and lemongrass that is Will, but spiced with something that smells rougher, coarser; nails in his back and teeth at his throat.

He cannot speak.

"Will is on suppressants," Alana says for him, frowning heavily. "He has an implant. It's meant to last for almost ten years."

"Well, evidently, it ran out," Chilton hisses, his eyes flashing red as he looks to Alana. Hannibal growls, once, a warning, and makes sure Chilton meets his eyes, sees that he will not tolerate any sharp word sent her way.

Three Alphas exposed to a heatscent as strong as Will's is bound to cause problems. He swallows. "Do you have any Omega staff that can give him Neutral?" he asks. It is a drug specifically designed to interrupt a heat, or at least stall it. Normally used on Alphas, he knows it's proven effective for ill-timed heats as well. "Or more suppressants?"

Chilton lifts his chin, outraged and puffed up. "I tried already," he replies. "Doctor Gideon paid the price for that."

Hannibal frowns. "What happened?"

"We should take this outside," Jack says. "Or to your office, Frederick. Somewhere we can't smell him."

Chilton nods in sharp agreement, turns and strides quickly from the lobby, away from the stairs that lead to the cells. They pass through a large recreational area, barren, and then up another flight of stairs that leads to a corridor of offices. Chilton's is at the last one and they all gather inside. Hannibal eyes the walls – beige, lackluster, with thickly-bordered golden frames bearing Chilton's various accolades and certificates. They are eye-catching by design, and Hannibal huffs.

Chilton takes a bottle of air freshener, spraying it liberally, and opens a window. Hannibal winces at the scent of it, and takes a seat nearest the window, Alana next to him, and Jack bordering her other side. Chilton sits behind his desk.

Hannibal curls his fingers, digs his nails into the armrests, and fixes Chilton with an unimpressed, heavy look. "When was Gideon attacked?" he asks.

"This morning," Chilton replies, sitting back in his chair. Without the scent of Will surrounding them, Hannibal sees his shoulders relaxing, senses Jack calming from the bristling, angry thing he had been in the lobby. Yet, his face is stern, lines drawn heavy in his brow and tugging the corners of his mouth down.

Jack growls. "You didn't tell me until four hours ago," he says. Closer to noon.

"I had to do a bit of damage control, first," Chilton says sharply, fixing Jack with a look. "I was only told when an orderly smelled the blood. I didn't know, at first. If it had been a second later, Gideon would have bled out."

What a pity.

"What happened?" Alana demands.

"Apparently Will convinced one of our nurses to open his cell. Gideon approached him, tried to compel him to talk, or spread his legs, I don't know," Chilton says, with a dismissive wave that makes Hannibal snarl. His stomach is tense, his mouth full of the scent of Will. Twin desires collide within him – the desire to run to Will, to pet and soothe and mount him as an Alpha should; and also to thoroughly punish Chilton, for somehow, this is his fault.

Maybe he could do both. Feed Alana and Will Chilton's blood and meat and take them to his bed to reclaim his mates.

He shakes the thoughts away, tries to focus.

"Will attacked him. Almost clawed his throat to pieces."

Hannibal frowns. "Did he try to escape?" he asks.

Chilton shakes his head. "He was back in his cell when I came down there."

"Who was this nurse?" Jack asks. He has his little black notebook out, where he marks down crime scene leads. He's scribbling in it rapidly.

"Matthew Brown," Chilton says, heavy with distaste. "Always felt like he'd be trouble, but he's kept his nose clean for the most part, until today. We can't find him, no one's seen him since this morning."

Hannibal growls. "It appears you're losing control of your ship, Doctor," he says, icily.

Chilton looks at him, eyes narrowed and very red. He doesn't reply.

Hannibal shows his teeth, then looks away, to Jack. "Do you have the photographs?" he asks, and Jack nods, holding up a manila folder, stuffed with paper that Hannibal is sure are mug shots. "How many suspects?"

"Ten known pairs," Jack replies. "A few singles that may have partners that aren't in the system."

"So many," Alana says, dismayed.

Jack nods, sighing. "And now, well -." He looks at Chilton. "We can't exactly approach Will, as he is. There's no telling what he'll do, how he'll react to an Alpha presence now."

Suddenly, clarity hits Hannibal, as sharply as a blow. "He knew he was going into heat," he murmurs, so softly he thinks only Alana hears him, for she tenses, looks at him with wide eyes. They have never seen Will in heat before – most Omegas go very sweet, pliant and needy, seeking only physical satisfaction, and with mated ones, the placation and knotting that only Alphas can provide. But with Will's trauma, with his fever-sickness, he doesn't know Hannibal from any other Alpha. Yet reacts to him, somewhat.

It makes sense; Will is riding purely on instinct, now. Instinct he didn't show Charlie, didn't feel until it was too late.

Not faking it, but not feral either.

Alana straightens, presses her lips together and holds her hand out. "I'll go," she says. "His heatscent won't affect me. He might talk to me."

"I will go, too," Hannibal says, heavy with finality. He will not be kept away from his mate, now.

If Alana has any protests, she doesn't voice them. Perhaps she senses Hannibal's need, the rabid clawing in his gut to see Will, to smell him – the ache to lay his hands on Will and feel his warmth, taste his sweat. He wants, so desperately it feels like blindness. His fingers curl.

Jack is clearly unhappy, but he nods, and hands Alana the file. She opens it, peers at the first set. Inside are sets of Alphas and women, one or both of them bearing a startling resemblance to either Alana or Will – dark hair, blue eyes.

She stands, and Hannibal goes with her, following her out of the office. Chilton stands and hands Hannibal the remote to control the slats of Will's cage. He takes it with another sharp nod, pocketing it, and they head towards the basement.

The doors open and Hannibal winces, covering his mouth and nose again at the pervasive, heavy scent of Will's heat. It's decadent, thick, sits like dark chocolate and rich, sweet wine on his tongue. He breathes it in, greedy but restrained. The fellow cellmates are howling, all of them Alphas, pacing and red-eyed and slamming themselves against the glass and plastic keeping them caged, eager to get at Will.

Gideon's cell is covered in blood.

Will is pacing. The grey sheen of the covering Chilton installed is all but ripped to shreds, allowing them a view of each other. Will is soaked with sweat, his bloodied scrubs clinging to him, the lightness of them showing the stark, dark outline of slick that has pooled from his body, leaking down his thighs. His bare feet shine with it and the floor looks damp from his pacing. His nails, his neck, shines pinkly, old blood and sweat smeared on his clothes.

He stops when he sees Alana, snaps his head up, snarls when Hannibal comes into view. He paces again, two steps, and stops. His cock is an obscene outline in his clinging clothes, his cheeks and throat flushed, hair plastered wetly to his face and neck.

He smells _wonderful_. Hannibal's mouth waters, and he steps closer, and Will mirrors him, head tilted, hands pressed against the slats of his cage. Then, he snarls, sucking in a breath through his parted, pink lips. He looks so beautiful like this, wild and lovely in his pain, in his suffering. Hannibal thinks of what he might do, had Will gone into heat in his bed. What he might look like, just like this, but clear-headed, knowing, recognition and love in his eyes as he used to look at them.

His heart clenches, painfully, when he sees no such flicker in Will's golden eyes. He thinks himself a fool, not to have noticed the signs before – of course Will was going into heat. He should have smelled it, should have recognized it.

Failure, agony, they all entwine together and shred him from the inside.

"Will," Alana says, and Will's eyes snap to her. She holds up the file. "I have some pictures, here. They might be the people who abducted you." Will's head tilts, his nostrils flare. "Would you like to see them?"

Will looks at her, looks at her. His upper lip twitches and his fingers curl at his sides. A tremor runs down his body, another surge of heat, incensed by Hannibal's proximity. He must be going insane, soaked with the scent of so many Alphas. This is not the place for him. He should be _home_.

Will's head tilts. He sucks in a breath and his eyes snap back to Hannibal again, so fierce that Hannibal fights the urge to take a step back. "Guess you got what you wanted," he snarls, pressing close to the slats. Hannibal frowns.

"This isn't what I wanted, Will," he replies.

"No?" Will purrs, and smiles. It's not his normal smile, it's too wide and altogether too manic. "Come on, Alpha," he whispers. Shows Hannibal the arch of his throat, which looks better now, no longer chafed, and shines with sweat. Hannibal sees the mating mark he placed on Will, all those years ago, and he swallows. "I'm fertile now. Can't you smell it?"

Hannibal can. He can and he wishes with all his might that he couldn't.

He reaches out, blindly, for Alana. Needs her calming presence, needs her touch. Her fingers wrap around his wrist and Hannibal's hands form fists.

Will sees it. He sees everything. He snarls, slamming his hands against the wall of his cage. "Come on!" he demands, sinks to a crouch, like he wants to lunge. Abruptly, softens, his eyes closing as another wave of heat runs its nails down his spine. " _Fuck_." His hands find his hair, tug, and he straightens, paces away.

"Will?" Alana whispers, soft, weak.

"Fuck," Will growls, tugging on his hair. He yanks at his shirt, pulls it over his head to bare his skinny chest. Hannibal flinches, wishing he could tear his eyes away. Will still looks strong, despite his malnourishment, his shoulders tensed and flexing. He claws at his own nape, shakes his head sharply. "Fuck, need – need an Alpha. He'll…" He turns, fixes Hannibal with a sharp, golden glare. "Why won't you fucking _help me_?"

Hannibal feels that ball of failure flex, combine with outrage.

"I'm _trying_ ," he says.

"No you're not!" Will yells, swipes like he wants to claw at Hannibal. His wrists are red, like he's been scratching himself. "You're not! Come on, I'm finally fucking willing, I -."

Will had said Alphas are easier to control when they're angry. Stupider in their anger. He's right, and Hannibal is enraged.

He snarls. Loudly. Will goes quiet, his shoulders tensing up, hiding his neck. He trembles, and whines, and it's such a sweet sound. Hannibal's head feels too hot, his teeth too sharp, red prickling behind his eyes. Will is shaking, slick with sweat. He falls to the bed, head in his hands, and claws at his neck.

"Please," he whispers, lifting his eyes. His mouth is red on the inside, skin tinged subtly pink from Abel Gideon's blood. He curls his fingers, trembles again, bites his lower lip and fixes Hannibal and Alana with wide eyes. "Please. It hurts."

"We're going to help you, Will," Alana says, for Hannibal cannot speak. If he says anything, he knows it will be the wrong thing. She squeezes his wrist and steps towards the slats, holding up the file. "Will you look at them? Please?"

Will licks his lips, wincing. "Will you make it better?" he asks, and he sounds so young, so sweet.

Alana's smile is faint, her eyes wet. "I'll try," she says.

Will bites his lower lip, flinches, looking down again.

Then, he nods. Hannibal steps back and opens the slats and Alana hurriedly puts the file on one at chest height, and steps back before Will can lunge at her. Will sucks in a deep breath, pressing his lips together, wringing his hands, and then he stands, and grabs the file, and sits cross-legged in front of them.

His fingers curl around it and his lips twitch. He lifts the file to his nose, breathes in, and his eyes flash.

He looks at Hannibal, almost in accusation. Hannibal wants to say so many things – wants to ask why Will keeps looking at him like that. Wants to ask why he chose to save Charlie, why he offered to mount his female captor. Wants to know if Will followed through on that offer.

Will ducks his head, unable to hold eye contact with an Alpha – an instinct he has not yet shown, and settles Hannibal remarkably. He forces himself to breathe, shallowing, the air soaked in Will's scent. Around them, the Alphas are still howling.

He opens the file. His jaw clenches, nostrils flaring as he looks through the sets of pictures. One, then the next, then the next. Hannibal waits with baited breath, waiting for Will to pause, waiting for him to give himself away with a sucked-in breath, a soft whine, a flash of his wild eyes or a shake of his head.

Will pauses, at the very last one. He frowns, and looks up, looks at Alana. Slowly, he closes the folder, the last picture pulled out, and shows it to her.

Hannibal blinks, frowning in confusion. It's his picture, and Alana's, no doubt taken from their residencies at John Hopkins – Hannibal is younger, in that picture, his hair darker, but Alana looks the same.

"These look like you," he says.

Alana frowns deeply. "We didn't take you," she says.

"I know," Will replies, and looks down again. His fingers trace, feather-light, over Alana's hair, over Hannibal's cheekbones. Why on Earth would Jack put their pictures in there?

"Doctor Hannibal Lecter," Will murmurs. Tilts his head. "Doctor Alana Bloom."

He pauses, and sucks in a breath, his eyes widening. He flattens his hand over his mouth and sobs, trembling, knuckles white. " _Oh_."

His voice holds recognition, holds shock. Hannibal is frozen, even the beat of his heart and the intake of his breath feels forced, like if he doesn't think about them, he will simply stop. Will looks up, eyes wide and shining with tears.

They fall, as he meets Hannibal's eyes. " _Hannibal_ ," he whispers, weakly. Hannibal cannot help how he steps forward, touches the flat side of one of the open slats. Will looks at him, slack-mouthed, greedily taking in his scent. His fingers curl around the photographs tight enough to crinkle the paper, and tremble. Will flinches from him, ducks his head again, and sobs, puts a hand to his hair and tugs. "Oh my God. _Hannibal._ "

"It's alright, Will," Hannibal murmurs. He wants, so badly, to reach out and touch Will, to placate and soothe him. Will's scent burns the back of his throat, the sound of his mate in distress will be branded in his memory for the rest of his life. Will is here, Will is suffering, and still Hannibal can do _nothing_. "It's alright. I'm here. Alana and I are here."

Will snarls, standing abruptly, and throws the file at them. "None of these are them," he growls, and lunges for Hannibal, catches him by the coat and hauls him against the slats. He bares his teeth, but the slats are too narrow for him to bite through, to work his head unless he really tries. He's not trying, though – his golden eyes burn into Hannibal, lock and hold him there, and he shows his teeth. "Promise me," he says, deadly-soft. "Promise me you'll bring me their fucking hearts."

"I will," Hannibal breathes.

Will nods, and lets him go. He runs his hands through his hair and shivers, pacing back and forth between the two cement walls. "They said they'd be kind," he growls. "I believed them. Fucking – at least they had the decency to wait until there was heat. Charlie – Charlie." His head snaps up and he growls. "Where is Charlie?"

"He's safe," Hannibal says, shaken more than he'd care to admit by the abrupt change in Will's demeanor. Will sounds more like himself, but still wild, that half-feral creature that had first snarled at him and knew only his voice. "He wants to come see you, but you'll frighten him, like this."

Will stops, blinks. "No," he says, coldly. "No, he trusts me."

"Should he?" Hannibal says. "You killed the other two Omegas."

"No I didn't," Will snarls.

"Charlie told us you did," Alana says, sensing relative safety, now. She stands at Hannibal's side. Hannibal tries to ignore the cling of Will's scent on his coat. "He said you killed David."

"I -." Will swallows, curls his fingers, and swallows. He steps close to the slats, touches them, and lowers his voice. "The female is younger than the pictures," he says. Hannibal blinks, head tilted. "I think they were related. Father and daughter, or siblings. That's why the Alpha didn't mount her."

Hannibal frowns. It would make sense, then, why he chose Omegas, and would explain the female's compliance. If they're related, that family bond would be hard to overcome.

Will is watching them, dark-eyed, trembling. He licks his lips and leans in. "You have to get me out of here," he says, plaintive.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow. Given Will's behavior, he cannot be sure this isn't another manipulation. "You're in heat," he says coolly. "You're safer in there."

Will frowns at him, angry, jaw clenching. He growls. "I thought you wanted to help me."

"I do," Hannibal replies, and takes the folder, tucking it under his arm. "And it will help you most to find and arrest this pair while you're still inside. They may come back for you, if they learn you survived. You can identify them, after all."

Will's upper lip curls.

Then, he says, cutting and quiet; "Just wanna keep me in another box, is that it?"

Hannibal tilts his head.

"Will," Alana says, pleading. "We didn't know."

"You didn't _know_?" Will demands, glaring at her. "What, you thought I just up and left, that I'd abandoned my _mates_?"

She flinches, and Will blinks.

His eyes widen, and he takes a step back, trembling finely. "Oh my God," he says, and laughs. It's a hysterical sound. "That's exactly what you thought, isn't it?" Alana trembles, her fingers curling, and Will snarls at her. "When did you give up on me, Alana? When did you stop hoping I'd come home?"

"We never stopped," she breathes. "Never."

Will snarls, though it's half a laugh, half a sob. "Right," he says. "Fine. Keep me locked away in here. Since you obviously know what's _good_ for me."

"Will -."

Hannibal stops her, a hand on her shoulder. He closes the slats and forces her back. "Thank you for your time, Will," he says, and tugs on Alana's shoulder, guiding her back towards the stairs.

"Why did you do that?" she demands.

"Will is in an incendiary mood," Hannibal says darkly. "Whether that's goaded by his heat, or he genuinely recognizes us and is coming to grips with his own abandonment, it will do none of us any good to speak when emotions are so high."

She swallows, face tight with strain, and Hannibal sucks in a breath. Will's scent clings to him, impatient and rude. His stomach is heavy and his mouth is still so wet, aching to sink his teeth into Will's neck. He thinks, idly and with something like dark humor, that the cure for him might be Alpha savagery, to recement his place amongst their pack.

But Will is trying to piss them off – and it's working. Hannibal cannot let him sway their judgement.

Jack and Chilton are in the lobby again, and stink of air freshener. He hands Jack the file. "Will didn't pick out any of these," he says.

Jack glowers at the file, and takes it.

"What the Hell kinda stunt was that, putting our faces in there?" Alana demands, her eyes dark with outrage.

Jack shrugs, unapologetic. "I thought framing you as suspects would trigger a reaction in him," he says mildly. He looks at Hannibal, brows raised. "Did it?"

"He seemed to recover some cognizance, yes," Hannibal says. "For all the good it did."

Chilton lets out a rough, angry sound. "I can't have an in-heat Omega in my facility," he says. "We have maybe six hours before Will develops a Voice from Gideon's blood. It won't be safe for him here, or for the inmates, or the staff."

"What do you suggest?" Jack asks. "Solitary?"

"I considered it."

"No," Hannibal says, firmly. "If you insist on removing Will from danger, then allow Alana and I to bring him home."

" _What_?" Chilton demands. "No! This is still an open investigation. He attacked another inmate and almost killed him! Will is dangerous, Hannibal!"

"And I accept full responsibility for it," Hannibal replies coolly. Alana is, surprisingly, nodding. Whatever reservations she had before have clearly been wiped away. Hannibal remembers Will's words, his accusations. "He has spent five years in a cage, Frederick, and now he is still suffering. I will not keep him chained up like an animal a second longer."

"Look, if you just wanna fuck him, then -."

Before he can finish his sentence, Hannibal has a hand on his throat, squeezing tightly. Chilton's eyes bulge, he claws at Hannibal's hand and Hannibal lifts his chin, pleased to note that neither Alana nor Jack seem intent on making him let go.

"Speak very carefully," Hannibal says. He meets Chilton's eyes, waits for the flicker of submission in them, the saccharine change in Chilton's scent as defiance turns to fear, and releases his neck.

Chilton clears his throat, corrects his tie. He glares at Hannibal, then Jack, for not doing anything to stop him. Hannibal wipes his hand on Chilton's lapel and moves back to Alana's side. She squeezes his hand, thumb brushing across his knuckles.

"A transfer, then," Jack says.

Hannibal nods. "I have access to Neutral, which will interrupt his heat and, hopefully, clear his head. He will be safe, and under Alana's and my supervision the entire time."

Jack nods, then sighs. "You really don't think he'll try and hurt you?"

"Oh, I'm sure he will try," Hannibal says lightly. "But I am his Alpha. He knows me. Perhaps, with enough patience, and enough time, he will calm down and learn that he is no longer in danger, and we can proceed with the investigation with his help, and Mister Brooks'."

Jack nods again. "I'll gather the paperwork to see it happen."

Hannibal smiles. "Good," he says. "Alana and I shall return home and make sure everything is in order. If that will be all, gentlemen?"

Chilton sputters, but wisely says nothing. Jack merely smiles at him, though it's tight and strained. Hannibal takes Alana's hand, and they leave the hospital.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god this took FOREVER I'm so sorry!

Hannibal returns home, set on the mental task list of preparing a space for Will, stocking up food and stores, and arranging his appointments so that he and Alana are always home during his first few days. Yet, when he crosses the threshold, the pervasive _lack_ of Will's scent clashes with the cloying, thick remnant of his heat, and he finds himself unable to so much as shrug off his coat.

Alana turns to him, head tilted, eyes dark. Hannibal shakes his head, tugs at the lapel of his coat, where Will touched, and raises it to his nose.

He sags, back to the wall, and rubs his hand over his face. "Hannibal?" Alana whispers, approaching him, her hand landing gentle on his forearm.

He shakes his head. "I'm…" He swallows, clears his throat, tries to make his mouth dry, his teeth gentle. He lifts his eyes to hers, finds them dark, near-black with remaining outrage, with lingering worry. She presses her lips together, looks down, then back up.

"Was his heatscent really that powerful?" he asks.

Hannibal cannot deny it. Even without his superior sense of smell, he's sure it would have sent him to his knees in any other situation.

He nods, and she presses close to him. Her nose touches his jaw and Hannibal shivers, clings to her, lets out a soft growl. "Can I help?" she asks.

He nods again. She is so beautiful, so strong; such a worthy wife. He wraps a hand in her hair and pulls her into a kiss, and it's rough, and passionate, and he turns her, pressing her against the wall where his back just was. She moans into the kiss, her hands fluttering weakly before settling at his shoulders, drawing him closer.

His other hand finds her hip, tugs her close so he can rut his erection against her belly. He smells, faint, the first flickers of her own arousal, her body reacting to his kiss and his touch. It's not the scent of an Omega in heat, but something softer, something soothing. He aches to drown in it.

"We have time," she murmurs, soothing him, nails of one hand scratching through his hair. He pulls back, lets her shed his coat and hang it, lets her take his hands and guide him up the stairs and to their bedroom, where it smells of both of them and nothing else. He growls, savagely unhappy at that knowledge. But soon, Will might join them. He will, eventually, once he's better. Hannibal cannot let himself think of, cannot accept, any future where that is not the case.

She sheds her clothes quickly, bares herself for him, and Hannibal falls against her with a weak growl, kissing her until there is no more air. He guides her to the bed and lays her atop it, his avenging angel, his beautiful muse. He kisses her, swallows her gasp, drinks down her moan as two of his warm fingers slide between her legs, find her clitoris and apply gentle pressure.

She shivers, eyes dark with lust, now, her cheeks bearing a delicate flush. Hannibal pulls back, pulls his sweater over his head and throws it to one side. She sits up, helping him with his shirt, with his suit pants, until he's bare as well and can climb onto the bed between her thighs. He nuzzles the lovely arch of her neck, kisses wide over the scar he gave her on their wedding night as she clings to him.

Her nails scratch over his chest, under his arms, dig into his back as he lowers himself to her, finds her lips and claims them for his own. A drive has risen in him, fanged and ragged, that wants to bite her, and put her on her hands and knees, mount her brutally. He pushes it back – he would never dare to bruise her, cannot afford to let his savagery out on her delicate flesh. She is too precious, altogether too wonderful, to submit to such cruelty.

 _Oh_ , but if Will were here…

It feels wrong, to think of him. To bring his shadow into the room when for five years Hannibal kept him so stubbornly out. Yet Will comes, moves through the air and around them as he always has; pervasive and without a care for the walls and limitations society would place on him. He has always been given free reign, wanderlust, and Hannibal shivers as he imagines Will in bed beside them. Imagines his mouth, his hands, the brightness of his eyes.

He pulls back, rests his forehead to Alana's, and breathes out unsteadily. His hand slips between her again, one finger curling, testing her wetness, her openness. She is welcoming, accepts the penetration of his finger with grace and an eager sigh.

He opens his eyes, meets hers, and hears Will's purr. Her eyes are glassy, far-away.

"Are you thinking of him, too?" he asks. Dares to insult her by betraying his own weakness.

She bites her lower lip, and nods. Shameless, sorrowful. She wraps a hand around the back of Hannibal's neck and gasps as he pushes all the way into her with his finger, his thumb circling just shy of her clit, making her spasm and making her wet.

Hannibal nods, and closes his eyes. They can be ashamed together. "Do you remember what he feels like inside you?"

"Yes," she replies, breathless, moaning as he curls his finger up, rubs the soft swell of her sensitive insides and feels her tighten for him, twitch, as he brushes his thumb over her clit. She gasps, and throws her head back, her lashes fluttering and damp. "Can you remember how he feels?"

Hannibal wants to. Wants to. Can't – he's sure it would ruin him. For of the two of them, he knows his battle will be most uphill, to win Will's love again. He is the Alpha, the hunter, the _monster_. He should have looked for Will harder, hunted him down until he was found. He should have covered Maryland in blood, wetted the Pennsylvania fields with tears and viscera, before Charlie was even brought there.

He shakes his head. "No."

She whines, mouth tightening, as he kisses her and feels her bear down around his finger, slick and warm. She kisses him through her orgasm, trembling, her thighs pulling together in a brief, instinctive show of resistance. But her hands clutch at him, cling, and when he pulls his finger out to taste her, she sighs and runs her hands down his back, settles in the familiar place around his hips.

"Try," she whispers, and spreads her legs, allowing him to push into her. She's _wet_ , and spasms around him as he thrusts in, as he buries himself inside her slick heat. Hannibal growls, nips her lower lip, tilts his head and parts his teeth to settle gently on her neck.

It is a great disservice to her, but she told him to try; Hannibal clings to the scent of Will in his mouth. Imagines he is not kissing smooth, sweet flesh but stubbled skin; imagines it is Will beneath him, pinned and mounted. Imagines Will's hands, clawed and demanding. Imagines the strong, thick tension in his thighs. He starts a rhythm in her and imagines it's Will, instead, purring in his ear, filling Hannibal's senses with sweet whines and soft moans.

He kisses Alana again, desperately, one hand cupping her face. They both have strong jaws, his mates – he certainly has a type, let no one argue that – and he covers her, buries his face in her thick hair – _Will's hair_ – and savors the drag of her nails – _Will's nails_ – and wants to snarl. Wants to bite.

He shudders, and comes inside her, turning his head so he doesn't bite her, working his hips so his knot doesn't try and force itself into her. She cannot take a knot like an Omega can. She embraces him, so steady and strong when it feels like Hannibal is nothing more than flotsam and wreckage.

He pulls out and rolls onto his back, so he doesn't crush her under his weight, but turns and pulls her close when she sighs. He wraps his arms around her, kisses her hair, and sighs with her, letting the vanilla-sweet scent of her burn Will away. Lets the shadow fade – though, when Hannibal opens his eyes, he sees Will smiling and wink at him before he leaves the room.

She touches a hand to his chest, over his racing heart. Kisses there. "We're getting him back, Hannibal," she whispers.

Yes, they are. Hannibal feels exhausted, abruptly. The past few days have weighed heavily on him and neither of them have gotten much sleep. There is time – time, so against them, time, so cruel to them. Now it runs short. But it is there.

He kisses her forehead and pushes himself upright. "We need to prepare his nest."

She nods, and gets out of bed as well. They dress in more comfortable clothing and leave the room, hand in hand.

 

 

It took them six months, originally, to take Will’s nest apart. It had always been sparse, since Will had a house of his own and therefore his own space to retreat to if he ever needed to be apart from them, so their version of a nest had been utilitarian at best. It had been a place to store his extra clothes and to sleep in when Hannibal was out hunting and Alana wasn’t home yet.

After a year, they’d repurposed it into a guest room. It isn’t difficult to lift the mattress from the bedframe, to tilt the frame to the wall so it presses flat. It’s easy, and familiar, to pile pillows and blankets on top of the mattress and push it into the corner so that there are four waist-high walls of fabric around to shield an Omega from sight. It's easy to dedicate a spare set of linens, and all the blankets and pillows not in use elsewhere, to make it comfortable and welcoming.

They have some of Will's old clothes, having taken them from his house when it was clear he wasn't coming back. They had been kept in the wardrobe in the guest bedroom and Hannibal takes them out now, unboxes them and throws them askew in the nest. He thinks, in the way people half-mad might think, that he should still be able to smell Will on these clothes. But he cannot. Five years is a long time for scents to fade, even to his nose.

Alana sighs when he's done, folding her arms over her chest as he collapses the boxes and puts them back in the wardrobe. She tilts her head when he looks at her.

"What do you think about getting a dog?"

Hannibal smiles.

"Do you think he will see it as an attempt to buy his affection?" he asks.

She shrugs one shoulder, worrying her kiss-red lower lip, and idly tugs at her hair. "Maybe," she replies, and sighs. Her eyes brighten, well with tears, and she looks away. She sucks in a breath, and turns and leaves the room, and Hannibal follows, closing the door behind him.

They head to the kitchen and Hannibal gets out a bottle of wine. They both need it – Alana doesn't even protest that it's wine, and takes a large gulp when he offers her a glass. "He knows we abandoned him," she says, and the tears are falling now, pale on her flushed cheeks.

Hannibal sighs, and tries not to think about the look on Will's face, the sharp-edged, hysterical sound of his laugh.

"What lies before us is a situation as delicate as it is unprecedented," he says to her. She meets his eyes, and nods. "We are, all three of us, keenly insightful people. Will may expect to be psychoanalyzed, to have every action and word judged and dissected. As therapists, we are uniquely skilled to help him recover."

"But not as his mates," she finishes for him, and wipes at her face. Hannibal nods, and sighs, before taking a sip of his wine. It's tart and sour to his tongue, lacking the sweetness of Will. He grimaces and sets the wine down. "If Charlie's story is to be believed, it's…" She shakes her head. "Will can't possibly just be _okay_ , Hannibal. Not after that."

Hannibal nods. He does not suggest the idea that Will see a different therapist. Barring the unique way of life they lead, he knows they are both possessive of Will's mental health and sharp mind.

"Before he was taken, Will worked for Jack," Hannibal says. "He walked into and out of the minds of serial killers. He chose to share his home and his body with one. As you did." She swallows. "I'm not saying we should shrug off his trauma and assume he will recover quickly, but the fact of the matter is, it's a possibility. Will may look at these people as simply another killer, another mindset that he leaves at the threshold."

"He cannot leave _us_ at the threshold," Alana says sharply. Her fingers curl and her knuckles whiten around her glass, and she takes another long drink. "If that happens, then all that remains is what we did. Or what we didn't do."

Hannibal nods, and tries to ignore the pang in his chest that sentiment brings. "Unfortunately, my love, this is all conjecture," he murmurs. "But we will bring him here, and I will administer Neutral so he can clear his head. I am certain that with a nest, and with careful and consistent love, he will recover."

He _has_ to.

Before she can reply, Hannibal's phone rings. He goes to his coat, where he left it, and answers. "Jack."

"We finished the paperwork," Jack says, gruffly. "They're bringing you to him."

"They?"

"I staffed the escort only with women. I won't be going," Jack says, and Hannibal nods – it is prudent, and he appreciates Jack's mindfulness. "I know he's your mate, Hannibal, and I know, technically, he is under your supervision, but I'd appreciate regular updates and any new information you can give me. I want to catch these animals."

"As do I," Hannibal replies. "My next suggested step is to contact Charlie and his wife. I believe his presence will help settle Will, and if he remembers anything, the other Omega's company will keep him soothed, and gentle."

"I've already made arrangements," Jack says. Hannibal smiles. "I've gotten them a room in a hotel near you guys. Charlie told me he'd call both of us when they arrived."

"Excellent. When can I expect the escort?"

"Within the hour." Jack pauses, and Hannibal lets him.

Then, when the silence stretches on, he says; "I'll take care of him, Jack."

Jack exhales, heavily. "I know you will," he replies. Then, he hangs up, and Hannibal sighs and returns to Alana.

"They're bringing Will," he tells her. Her wine glass is empty. So is his. She nods.

 

 

They have given Will fresh clothes, for all it's worth, seeing as he is still very much under the influence of his heat. He's a trembling, restrained mess of shivering, red flesh, of golden eyes and bared teeth. They have him in cuffs, and shackles. They have him like he's nothing more than a common criminal.

Hannibal fights back his snarl, pleasantly surprised to recognize Agent Monroe at the head of the pack of females as they lead Will inside. Once the door is shut, Agent Monroe unfastens Will's cuffs and he growls, rubbing at his wrists, shifting his weight. His nostrils are flared, soaking in the scent of Hannibal and Alana in their home, and the entryway is small. There is nowhere, soon, that doesn't reek of Will's heatscent.

"Doctor Lecter," Agent Monroe says with a nod. Hannibal returns it, not bothering to hide his eagerness to herd them all back out. "Good luck."

"Thank you," he replies, and closes the door behind them. As soon as it clicks shut, he becomes aware of a sound. It's almost a purr, but more base, less the noise of a pleased Omega and more like the forced, low sound of a growl. He turns, and sees Will touching his and Alana's coats. He smears his slick hands across them, and brings the arm of the one Hannibal wore to the hospital to his cheek, rubbing his face along it like a cat.

"Will," he says, and Will tenses, turns, eyes snapping to him. He gives Hannibal a once-over, too predatory to be appreciative, and rubs at his sore wrists again. "I have Neutral for you. It will halt your heat and clear your head, and allow you to settle."

Will's eyes narrow, and he lifts his chin.

Omegas are not, as society would have people believe, completely without self-awareness and unable to think levelly during their heat. They are capable of rational thought, but it might be the same as if someone were drunk; there are things they cannot, should not, safely do, and it takes them a while to grasp complicated ideas, but they will get there. They understand.

Especially someone like Will, who is one of the most brilliant people Hannibal has ever met. He has shown already his ability to manipulate, and plot, and carry out his intentions with flawless precision even in the midst of his heat. It would be a great disservice to him to believe otherwise.

His jaw clenches, and his fingers curl, and flex, as he lets his hands fall to his sides. A tremor runs down his spine and he sucks in a breath, flinches as he is undoubtedly overwhelmed by the scents of his mates. Alana hovers, a nervous shadow at his shoulder, and he turns to look at her. It bares his neck to Hannibal and Hannibal has to swallow, has to put his tongue between his teeth and bite down so he doesn't lunge for Will. He smells so _good_ , and Hannibal wonders again how he hadn't noticed the signs before.

Alana meets Will's eyes, and offers a soft, timid smile. "Will?" she hazards, and reaches for him, and Hannibal has to fight down the flare of jealous outrage he feels at seeing him accept her touch, as he is sure Will would not have done the same for him. Will shudders, gasping, and turns more into her, until his cheek rests on her shoulder. His arm twitches, moves to embrace her and he takes in a deep breath.

He growls, and flinches back, and she lets go. He snarls at her and shows his teeth, and looks accusingly to Hannibal.

"No Neutral," he rasps.

Hannibal tilts his head. "No?" he repeats.

" _No_ ," Will replies. "I -. I can't -."

He shakes his head, once, sharply, and rolls his shoulders. He looks to Hannibal like he might hold the answer to all of life's great questions, and then away, up the stairs. Again, his neck is bared, shown, again he shakes and Hannibal has to swallow his mouthful of saliva.

Will moves, feline and prowling, up the stairs. Alana follows after giving Hannibal a wide-eyed look, and Hannibal can only shrug, and follow. He lets Alana act as a buffer, so Will does not feel like he's being chased. Will immediately goes to the nest room and throws open the door like he expects someone to attack him from inside.

He gasps, and steps in, his golden eyes raking over the piles of blankets, of pillows. Of his clothes. He turns, and looks between them.

"You…" He stops, clears his throat, tries again; "You kept my stuff?"

"Of course we did," Alana says, nodding frantically. "Everything you kept here, we saved."

Will swallows, and looks down at the nest again. He sucks in a breath, and goes to it, bends down to pick up one of his old sweatshirts that has stains under the arms and around the neckline, and a swath of white paint from when he helped Alana redecorate the garage. He holds it to his cheek, rubbing it against his skin, his neck.

There are tears in his eyes.

"Would you like something to eat?" Hannibal offers. "Or drink? I can't imagine Chilton provided the most satisfying of diets."

Will huffs a laugh, though it is strained and full of anger. "Am I to be treated like a guest in my own home?" he demands.

Hannibal's chest clenches. _Home_ , he's _home_. "Of course not, darling," he says, unable to help himself when using the term of endearment he gave to Will. Will shivers, like he did in his cell, and looks down at his feet, then at Hannibal.

"Will," Alana says, and steps forward. She reaches for him again, but stops, fingers curling. "You…. You know who we are, right? You remember."

Will growls, and drops the sweatshirt in the nest. "Of course I do," he replies. "I couldn't -." He pauses again, rolls his shoulders, and straightens. "I couldn't fucking _think,_ in that place. But I remember." He looks at both of them, Alana, then Hannibal, and his gaze burns.

He sighs, and looks away. He rubs a hand over his neck and lets out another low, rough sound that tastes bitter. "Five years," he mutters.

Alana sobs, and new tears gather in her eyes. Hannibal himself is not unaffected – the distance between them feels vast and he wishes with all his heart to gather his mates close, to bring them to Will's nest or Hannibal's bed and relearn how they all moved together. He wants to feed Will at his table, make his neck lax with wine and see him smile, _really_ smile. He would give the world to hear Will laughing.

"We're sorry, Will," Alana breathes through her tears. "We're so sorry."

"I suppose it's my fault," Will murmurs, shrugging, though it looks performative. "Clearly I behaved in such a way that you thought me capable of just… _abandoning_ you." He spits the word.

"No," Hannibal says, firmly. "The fault was ours." It was _his_. He should have hunted Will to the ends of the Earth, all four corners of existence, and brought him home. "The fault was mine."

Will looks at him. Smiles, too-wide. "And now?" he purrs, but it comes out weak, as another tremor of heat runs through him and he sags, his knees buckling. Hannibal wants to go to him, but Will corrects himself before he can take a step, and moves to the window, widening the distance between them further. He rests his hands on the windowsill. "Who bears the blame now?"

"I would be satisfied, to start, with the hearts of those who took you," Hannibal says. "But it will be only a start."

Will hums, and doesn't turn.

Daring, hoping, Hannibal goes to him. He takes a place at Will's right shoulder, Alana at his left. Will tightens his fingers, knuckles white and nails dug in, and looks Hannibal's way. His eyes are low-lidded, burning gold, and he smells so good it's all Hannibal can do to simply breathe.

"I will spend the rest of my life earning your love again," Hannibal says. Will's jaw clenches and he turns away, looking out the window. "Though I know it may never fully make amends. Though I know I may never, truly, earn your forgiveness, I will try. I will try for as long as the world turns and there is life still in me."

"We both will," Alana adds, and touches Will's shoulder.

Hannibal wants to touch him as well. His hands burn, and ache, but he does not dare. How terrible a blight indecision is, and one Hannibal is so unfamiliar with, all he can do is stand, and watch, and wait. Waiting is something he has done, often, but Will makes him impatient. He always has.

Will shivers again, and licks his lips, scratching his overgrown beard. Hannibal will need to get him a shaving kit, and he still remembers the shampoo Will likes to use. He will gather all those things, once Will and Alana are asleep. If he cannot hunt, he will provide for his mates in other ways; anything, to prove himself a good and worthy Alpha to them.

Will presses his lips together, and lifts his chin. "Do you still draw, Hannibal?" he asks.

Hannibal blinks, uncannily surprised at Will addressing him directly. He says his name so clinically it makes Hannibal feel warm, outraged.

"Yes," he replies.

Will nods. "You can be my sketch artist," he says, and his lips twitch. "I remember their faces."

Hannibal nods as well, his mouth dry. "Good," he purrs, and Will's shoulders tense up, his fingers curl even tighter. "We can get started whenever you're ready." He thinks of it; of Will, watching him sketch, with nothing but his voice, his direction, for hours on end. It would be a good place to start, to reclaim the intimacy they so readily shared before all this happened.

"Please take the Neutral, Will," Alana murmurs, gently rubbing his tense shoulder. "Charlie's going to come visit, soon, and you'll feel better when you're not in heat."

Will hums. "It's kind of poetic, don't you think?" he asks her, though his eyes don't move from their fervent gaze, out and over the backyard. "Five years, nothing, then as soon as I'm reunited with you, my body decides to…"

He doesn't finish the sentence, but he's right. It could almost be called kismet, could almost be called wonderful. His fertility, such a precious gift, is Hannibal's now, his for the taking. And he could do it, legally – it is his right. He won't, but he could.

Just like he could have hunted for Will in the beginning.

Will nods, sharply, and sets his teeth together and bows his head. "Fine," he says. "I'll take it." He looks to Hannibal and fixes him with a look dark and accusing. "I'm obviously too traumatized to go through a heat right now, isn't that right, Doctor?"

Hannibal frowns. Will is trying to bait him again, though to what end, Hannibal doesn't want to think about. But he nods, and Will smiles, wolfish and wide.

"Fine," he says again, and pushes himself away from the window. "Shall we?"


	8. Chapter 8

Hannibal has a single shot of Neutral in his cabinet, in the en suite master bathroom. He had kept it there for himself, if Will somehow managed to trigger a rut in him. Neutral is, primarily, used for Alphas, meant to stop a rut in its tracks since they do not come with rhyme or reason, and are triggered solely by the influence of a present and compatible Omega.

Will needs it, now. It will stop his heat, clear his head. He takes it, and goes downstairs to find Alana and Will in the kitchen, sitting on the two bar stools. Will is a shivering, soaked mess, his hair flat to his face and neck, his cheeks flushed, clothes clinging to his shoulders and thighs. He has a glass of ice water in both hands and is holding it to his forehead, breathing in shallowly as he tries to cool himself off. The glass is wet, the ice already almost completely melted from the fever emanating from his skin.

Alana looks at Hannibal, offers him a small, weak smile. Will tilts his head, shows Hannibal a slip of his golden eyes, and then his gaze drops to the shot in Hannibal's hand.

He huffs, closes his eyes, and turns away.

Hannibal approaches him, uncaps the shot and sets it by Will's elbow. Will goes stiff all over, nostrils flaring, and he straightens with a low snarl.

"You stink of sex," he says, accusingly.

Hannibal presses his lips together, pulling back the little plunger that will ready the shot. "You'll have to forgive me, darling," he murmurs. "I didn't recognize your heatscent, before. It took me by surprise."

Will's shoulders stiffen, and he sets his glass of water down, his eyes, glowing, on Hannibal's hands. He swallows harshly, and licks his lips, letting out a soft whine that tugs, earnestly, at Hannibal's chest. He looks to Alana, and she tilts her head, showing her neck, and smiles gently at him.

He swallows, and bows his head, eyeing the shot in Hannibal's hand like it's a snake about to bite him. "Will it hurt?" he asks.

Hannibal smiles, and tries to make his voice soothing, coaxing, when he says, "No, darling. I promise."

Will shivers, and nods. He closes his eyes and rakes his nails across his nape, pulling his hair from it and showing his neck. Hannibal's mouth floods with saliva, he steps close and cannot resist touching Will, squeezing his shoulder. He knows the Alpha didn't assault Will, knows he waited for a heat that never came, but Hannibal is an Alpha regardless. His touch, the scent of him, could trigger Will and he doesn't think he could bear it if Will ever flinched from him.

"You may feel a pinch," he warns, and then presses the shot into the side of Will's neck, where his scent glands are below his jaw, where the hormones are produced most strongly. Will hisses, gritting his teeth, and Hannibal pushes the plunger down, watches the white Neutral sink into Will's neck. He pulls the needle out once it's done and Will shudders, rolling his shoulders.

Hannibal caps the shot and throws it away, turns to see Alana gently easing Will's hands around his water glass again. Will paws at it, gracelessly, lifts it to his lips and drinks, ice and all, in three large swallows. He sets the glass down again, gasping, and tilts his head into Alana's touch as she gently runs her fingers through his hair.

Hannibal wants to touch him, too – it's a selfish desire, driven purely from his own instincts and the demands of his breed. His fingers curl and he folds his arms across his chest, forcing himself to remain where he is, on the other side of the island.

Will looks up, meets his eyes. A tremor runs down his spine and he drops his gaze, unable to hold eye contact with an Alpha, naturally deferential – it's a good sign, it means the Neutral is working, means Will's mind is clearing of heat. Hannibal lifts his chin, scents the air experimentally. Will's scent burns through him, but it's milder now, like adding sour cream to chili to lessen the spice.

Will presses his lips together, dragging his fingers along his glass, then down, across the counter. He's unconsciously scent-marking the space, spreading his scent along his home as Omegas are inclined to do. Hannibal smiles, seeing it.

Will scratches at his chin, wincing at the tug of his overgrown beard. "I'd like to shower," he says.

"Of course," Hannibal replies. "You know where everything is."

Will looks at him, head tilted, a single brow raised in a challenge. Hannibal meets his eyes steadily – Will doesn't want to be treated like a guest in his own home. Well, this is his home now. Everything is as he left it, and Hannibal knows Will reads his words for what they truly mean;

_You're home now, Will. Act like it._

He nods, standing, and prowls out of the kitchen, up the stairs. Hannibal's eyes lift, following the pad of his footsteps forwards the master bedroom; the single creak of floorboard outside the threshold. Hears, briefly, hesitance, before Will crosses into their room. Hears the soft click of the door closing, then the bathroom door closing. Hears the whir of the pipes as the shower turns on.

Alana makes a quiet sound, drawing his attention. She's frowning at him, looks concerned, but reservedly so. "That went…well," she hazards.

Hannibal smiles, faintly. "I believe what Will craves, most of all, is some semblance of normalcy," he says. She nods, for that much makes sense. "He has been trapped in a foreign place, with foreign people, for five years, and now he's home. It would be in everyone's best interests to act like it."

"Like nothing happened?" she says.

"Like nothing changed," Hannibal replies, and knows she understands the difference. "You still love him, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she replies, her tone turning sharp with outrage.

Hannibal smiles, and circles the counter. He takes her by the hair and lifts her into a kiss. "Distance and time will not have curbed his instincts, sweetheart," he tells her. "Will's empathy, his sharp eyes, will see that our intentions are pure, if we show him how much we still love and need him."

Alana hums, and sighs, leaning into his touch.

Hannibal presses a kiss to her forehead. "Will you be alright, if you are alone for a while? There are some errands I'd like to run – things he will need."

Her brow pulls together in the middle, fingers drumming once on the counter like a ticking clock, before she nods. "I don't think he'll attack me," she says, slowly.

Hannibal smiles, and lets her go. "I don't believe so either," he replies, and heads for the door to grab his coat. "In fact," he adds, and turns to see her standing in the entryway to the kitchen, "I think he will be far more comfortable with you, at least at first." Her head tilts. "You're less of an…obvious threat to him."

She shifts her weight, obviously displeased by that statement. Not for the implicit weakness, but the truth in it – she is a woman, and therefore cannot compel Will to do anything with her Voice, would be less capable of physically overpowering him, and does not offend him with an Alpha scent.

She sighs, pressing her lips together. "Hurry back," she says, almost like a question.

"As soon as I can," Hannibal promises. He puts on his shoes, and leaves the house.

 

 

He goes to his office, first, fills out a prescription for Will and calls it into the local pharmacy. He writes a script for Will's birth control and suppressants, knowing he will have to use pills until Hannibal can arrange a trip for him to get another implant. If he wants another implant.

Hannibal shakes off those thoughts as swiftly and thoroughly as he can. Now is certainly not the time to consider starting a family.

He goes to the grocery store, next, and picks up the shampoo Will uses, an electric razor, Will's preferred shower gel. He purchases scent deadening deodorant, for Will to choose to use if he wishes, and Will's preferred brand of coffee, another toothbrush and toothpaste for him, and blackberries. Will likes blackberries.

Then, wine. He thinks they will, all three of them, need a liberal amount in the next few days.

The entire trip takes him a little over an hour, and he's tense with apprehension as he makes his way back to their home. Alana hasn't called him, hasn't texted him, and Hannibal tries not to think about if that means everything is alright, or something terrible happened.

He gathers the bags and makes his way inside once he arrives, sucking in a deep breath, relieved beyond measure to smell no blood, no salt that means tears. No sharp, stinging remnants of Omega distress.

"Alana?" he calls, and makes his way to the kitchen. "Will?"

He hears, above him, a door open and shut, and looks up to see Alana coming down the stairs. Her hair is frizzy, in a disarray Hannibal recognizes, and she is wearing only a robe, wrapped tightly around her body. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, and Hannibal's head tilts.

He can smell her, and Will on her, from here.

He's not sure if what he's feeling should be called jealousy, for that seems too banal. Outrage feels too thin – for Alana is Will's mate, just as much as his. Will is his mate, just as much as Alana's. They have certainly slept together outside his company before.

He clears his throat, and begins packing away the blackberries and wine. "Making himself comfortable, I see."

She huffs, and Hannibal can almost hear her eyeroll as she pads over to the kitchen island and sits. "Nothing happened, Hannibal."

"I never said anything did."

" _Hannibal_."

Hannibal sighs, and turns to meet her eyes. She is looking at him sternly – she doesn't like to scold, and Hannibal fights down a smile, seeing the subtle clench of her jaw and the small fissure between her brows. She swallows, taps the sides of her folded hands on the counter, and sighs, looking down in a placative motion. "He wanted me to come get you," she says. Hannibal tilts his head, lifts his brows. "He's in his nest."

Hannibal hums, and turns away again. "Has the Neutral set in fully?" he asks.

"I think so," she replies. "He's not shaking anymore."

"That's good." He pulls the bag from the pharmacy towards him, and adds the shampoo, shower gel, deodorant, and razor to it. "Give these to him, please. I need to start making dinner."

She frowns, taking the bag. "You're not going to come upstairs?"

Hannibal shakes his head. "I should never go in his nest, Alana, you know that," he replies. "Not without explicit, immediate permission from him, and him alone."

"He _asked_ for you," she says sharply.

"Yes," Hannibal says with a nod. "Perhaps he is testing the boundaries of my control, and how cavalier I will be with his consent."

"He wouldn't -." But she stops, blinking, because he would. Of course he would. Will has always been that particular kind of manipulative. She swallows, looking down at the bag, and her knuckles whiten around the handles.

"Don't scold him," Hannibal tells her. "Whatever game he's playing, whatever he needs to do to trust me again, it is my duty as an Alpha to prove myself capable and suitable for him."

She frowns, pressing her lips together, and lets out a harsh, frustrated breath through her nose. "You men are so fucking difficult," she gripes, not quite angry enough to be too harsh. "Is it really that overwhelming? These instincts and drives that make you lose your minds over each other?"

Hannibal smiles at her, and gives a helpless shrug. "I confess it so," he murmurs. "But," he adds, when she huffs and folds her arms, "it is not just Will that conjures strong feelings in me, Alana. You have always done the same."

"I don't find that flattering," she says, but her eyes, her blush, betrays her. Hannibal smiles, circles the counter, and takes her in his arms. He can smell Will on her, the lingering scent of him on her neck, in her hair. She doesn't smell of arousal, doesn't smell of sex, just warmth – the same kind of warmth Hannibal imagines Will's nest is rapidly gaining, as he lounges and marks his clothes and the blankets and makes himself at home.

He cups her chin with gentle fingers, lifts her face, and kisses her, deeply. She sighs against him, arching closer, and Hannibal purrs, low in his chest, his other hand sliding, assured, between the folds of her robe where it hangs, along the edge of her thigh. Finds warm, bare skin, and pulls her against him.

She shivers, and when he pulls back, he sees her eyes dark. Feels her, trembling, flushed. He smiles, slides his hand up and teases at the top of her thigh, squeezes her hip, gently, and leans in for another kiss.

"Go keep our mate company," he commands, feels her shiver and she presses her lips together, nodding. "I will call you both when dinner is ready."

He lets her go, for if he touches her any more, he will surely rid her skin completely of Will's scent. He wonders, absently, if Will was trying to do the same – if he seeks to incense Hannibal, pick and pluck at his anger and pride, and force his hand.

She takes the bag and leaves, ascending the stairs, and Hannibal opens the fridge. He presses his lips together – there isn't much in the way of meat, since he hasn't had time at all to hunt in the last few days, but there is a package of pork loin he purchased from the store earlier that week that should suffice.

He takes it out, rolls up his sleeves, and sets to work.

 

 

He calls them down for dinner, and has set three places. Himself, at the head of the table, Alana on his left, Will on his right, as they used to sit. He pours them a glass of wine each and looks up as Alana's and Will's shadows eclipse the doorway from the hall. Alana is first, dressed in a black and red dress – he smiles, knowing she wears those colors to sate his preference – and then freezes, when his eyes meet Will's.

Will looks _beautiful_.

He's shaved his face – not close to his skin, a fine shadow of scruff that he used to wear, but completely. He's wearing a pale blue, long-sleeved shirt, black jeans, his hair is fluffy and curling wildly on his head. He looks not just five years younger, but maybe ten – the remnants of his heat bring a blush to his cheeks, a pinkness to his neck that Hannibal aches to bite. His eyes, only rimmed with gold now, are glacial and bright, that same piercing blue that so entranced Hannibal when they first met.

He cannot stop the low, visceral growl he lets out, seeing Will like that.

Will's eyes snap to him, and widen. He bites his lower lip, fingers curling in a brief spasm at his sides. Yet Hannibal sees in him no fear, no instinctive urge to shy away and hide from Hannibal's dark gaze. The opposite, in fact – Will meets his eyes readily, and smiles, off-kilter and wide enough to dimple his cheeks.

He huffs a laugh, and rubs the back of his neck. "Clean up pretty good, don't I?" he asks, and enters the room. He gravitates naturally to the right of the head, where he used to sit, and Hannibal digs his nails into his palm to stop himself reaching out, to pet through Will's soft hair, to yank him close and bury his teeth in Will's neck.

The mating scar he put on Will is stark, off-white on the bared arch of his throat, exposed by the low collar of his shirt.

"You are exquisite," he breathes. Will looks at him, his blush darkening. He bites his lower lip and rakes Hannibal up and down, and lets out a soft purr.

"Now, boys," Alana says, cutting through the fervor of flustered, golden air that passes between them, reflected in Will's bright eyes. Will's gaze snaps to her and Hannibal follows suit, sees her regarding them with a fond, happy smile, her head tilted, brows raised. "Are we going to eat or are you just going to stare at each other all night?"

Will laughs, a short but happy sound, and takes his seat. "I'm starving," he says.

Hannibal nods, and goes to the kitchen. He plates their dinner – a modest offering, of tomato risotto and roasted pork. Hearty things, to help Will regain some of his weight and his strength. He brings out the three plates and sets Alana's down first, as is customary. Then Will's, then his own.

He takes a seat.

There is a moment of pause, where Will has his hands on either side of his plate, waiting to take his knife and fork. Hannibal tilts his head, and Will meets his eyes.

He smiles.

Hannibal returns it, and begins to eat. Will and Alana follow suit immediately, intrinsically trained as pack animals to let the Alpha eat first. Will takes his first bite of pork, giving a quiet huff of delight, his eyes closing as he savors the meal.

" _Jesus,_ I'd forgotten how good your food tastes," he says, soft with wonder. He takes a drink of wine and Hannibal smiles, purring softly in his chest as he watches Will eagerly devour the food.

"I'm pleased you like it," he replies, as humble as he can manage.

Alana smiles. "How are you feeling, Will?" she asks, and Hannibal hopes the question is not as loaded as it sounds.

Will sighs, rubbing his hand over his neck, and takes another bite of rice. "I feel…good," he says, and winces at the word. "Well, not great, I'll admit. It'll take a while but…I'm happy to be home."

Alana's eyes shine, and she says with utmost sincerity; "We're so glad you're back."

"Yes," Hannibal adds with a nod. Will looks at him, rakes him up and down, and sighs through his nose. "It's a heavy weight on my heart, knowing what I know now. That you did not leave us of your own volition."

Will's nostrils flare, and he swallows tightly.

"What _happened_?" Alana asks. She's clearly been burning with curiosity for some time, if the eager set to her shoulders is any indication. Even as she asks, she winces, and presses her lips together. "I mean, you don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to, but -."

"Alana, please," Will says, and holds up a hand to stay her hurried words. "It's okay. I mean…" His shoulders roll, and he sucks in a breath, "It's just another crime scene, right? Shouldn't matter that I was one of the victims."

He looks down at his plate, and shivers. He looks so young, so vulnerable. Hannibal has no greater desire than to embrace him, to purr against Will's neck and feel him go lax and trusting in Hannibal's arms.

"Of course it matters," Alana says softly. "What happened to you _matters_ , Will."

"I got off easy," Will says bitterly, and shakes his head. "They were far gentler with me than they were with the others."

Hannibal hums. "Why is that, do you think?" he asks. Will's eyes snap to him, darkened now. But Hannibal will not let himself be dissuaded, will not apologize – if Will wants to prod at him, Hannibal can press right back. Will knows he is a man single-minded in his quest for answers, and far less tactful than Alana when it comes to asking questions.

His upper lip curls, a brief snarl that he immediately swallows back, and he shows his neck when he takes another drink of wine. "I don't think their intention was to build a harem," he says, somewhat tightly, sucking in a breath through his teeth. He contemplates the wine, swirls it around his glass, and takes another drink. "It was only my implant that forced them to take Charlie." He stops, and his fingers curl. "Then the others, when Charlie didn't get pregnant."

Alana's head tilts. "You can't blame yourself," she says gently.

"I don't," Will replies, light as air. He sets his glass down and turns his attention back to his food. "But there's an obvious physical likeness to the Omegas they chose."

Hannibal hums. "Did the female look like you, or the male?"

Will presses his lips together. "The female," he says, quietly. He lifts his eyes, meets Alana's. "She had blue eyes. Black hair. _God_." He looks away. "She was just a fucking _kid_."

"Why, then, did you offer to mount her?" Hannibal asks. Will's shoulders tense, and he growls, very softly. "Charlie told us you would speak to her, when the Alpha wasn't around." And Will, even with his implant and suppressants, would be able to impregnate a female. It's not just for Hannibal's sake that Alana is on birth control as well.

"I didn't," Will says. Hannibal tilts his head. "I didn't sleep with her."

"But you offered," Hannibal says. He can see anger flash in Will's eyes, his frown deepening, shoulders lifting. Closer to snapping.

But then, he sighs, and nods. His elbows come up to rest on the table and he rubs his hands over his face, up through his hair. "Yeah," he admits, watching Hannibal from the corner of his eye as though expecting an explosion of wrath. Hannibal will not let such emotion show. "I knew they wanted a kid, for whatever reason, and I knew I wasn't going to go into heat any time soon, so I offered."

There is…something, there. Something Will isn't saying.

Hannibal's head tilts. "And she refused?"

Will huffs a laugh, bitter and raw. "She told the Alpha," he says. "He beat the shit outta me, and Gregory showed up the next day."

Hannibal blinks, and _that_ causes a flicker of anger to spread up his spine. He bares his teeth and takes a drink of wine to try and hide it. Alana, however, at his side, has no such qualms about showing her anger; her face becomes a black mask of rage, and she turns to Hannibal, and hisses;

"He should die a thousand times for what he's done."

Hannibal is inclined to agree. Wholeheartedly.

"We will have our vengeance," he says quietly. "Jack has, in his own way, given me permission to do as I see fit, should we find them first."

Will straightens. "You can't hurt her," he says, almost coldly. "Or the baby. They don't deserve that."

"She is complicit in kidnapping and rape, Will," Hannibal replies, just as sharp. "If you don't want her dead, I will do my best to make it so, but I will do nothing to help her in the eyes of the law, or if she chooses to get between me and that man."

Will meets his eyes, and he knows. He knows Hannibal's wrath is without limit, without border. The ground will run red with the blood of anyone who defies him.

Will shivers, and lowers his lashes. Says, curtly; "If that's what you want, Alpha."

Hannibal presses his lips together, and his stomach turns. Will wants to wound him, and his aim has always been flawless.

"They were there, when I came home," Will says, lifting his eyes and meeting Alana's. The story is similar to Charlie's. "The girl, she was there, playing with my dogs. In my distraction, the Alpha got the drop on me." He huffs, aggravated, self-deprecating. "It was stupid. I let my guard down."

"It could have happened to anyone," Alana says soothingly.

"But it didn't happen to _anyone_ ," Will snaps. "It happened to _me_. And to Charlie, and Gregory, and David. And now they're dead and Charlie was -."

He stops, swallows harshly, and growls down at his hands.

"Charlie is safe," Hannibal says, softly. "He's safe, and he's alive, because of what you did to help him." Will swallows, closes his eyes, and his exhale is shaky. "He has talked of nothing but how you took care of him, how you helped him. He wants to see you."

Will nods, knowing this since Hannibal told him already. "He had a wife," he says, weakly, and opens his eyes, rubs a hand over his mouth. "Is she with him?"

Alana smiles, and nods. "She was with him today," she replies. "They're coming down, the both of them, sometime in the next few days. Jack's just waiting for confirmation that you're settled before he sends for them."

Will nods again. "I want to see him," he confesses. "I have to make sure he's okay, see it with my own eyes."

Hannibal smiles and, knowing and prepared for the possibility that Will might pull away, he reaches forward, and takes Will's hand. Will sighs, his shoulders sagging abruptly, and looks down at their laced fingers. Watches, as Hannibal brushes his thumb over Will's knuckles.

Will lifts his eyes. "Do you see me as broken?" he asks, whisper-soft.

Beside him, Alana makes a quiet, pained sound. "Not broken," Hannibal replies. "Just bruised, darling. And bruises fade."

Will swallows, and wets his lips. He looks to Alana and offers a weak, sad smile. Like he's afraid of being turned away. "Can I sleep with you guys, tonight?" he asks, and looks back to Hannibal. "I don't want to be alone."

Hannibal's head tilts, and he wonders how Will can flaunt the boundaries of his nest in one moment, then so eagerly ask to share space the next. Perhaps the offer had been genuine – perhaps Hannibal is too cautious, or Will too touch-starved, to remember the archaic rules and boundaries Alphas and Omegas normally follow.

But Alana speaks for him; "Of course, Will," she says, soft and glowing with joy. She leans forward and Hannibal pulls their hands across, so she can settle hers over their interlaced fingers. Will's eyes are bright, shining, and he smiles. "Of course you can."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want them to be HAPPY.........

When dinner is finished, Hannibal refills their wine glasses and settles down again. On a normal night before Will's disappearance, and then past that, when it was just Hannibal and Alana, they would normally find themselves in the study, with a fire lit if the season called for it, in varying degrees of intimate embrace and quiet conversation. All of them had mentally taxing jobs, and sometimes it was nice to simply sit together, bathed in each other's scents and calm, and relax until tiredness or a different kind of hunger pulled them upstairs.

Will rubs at his jaw, as though marveling at the smoothness of it, and his eyes are on Hannibal's hands. His fingers curl under Will's sharp gaze. Though he desperately, desperately wants to wrap his fingers in Will's hair, to put his teeth in Will's neck and draw his mate close to him, he could not bear it if Will pulled away from him, if he flinched and whimpered or made any other soft, placating Omega sound. His soul, his pride, would not survive if Will ever looked at him with anything like fear.

Alana clears her throat, sipping at her wine glass, as Will stares at Hannibal's hands and Hannibal stares at Will. "Is everything alright, Will?" she asks. She and Will had no pet names for each other – their intimacy lies in more physical places. They are both creatures eager to be touched, to be worshipped and praised.

Will nods, lets out a breath, and stifles a yawn behind his hand. "Just tired," he murmurs, as if the yawn wasn't evidence enough. His eyes close, a blink slower than normal, and he sighs. "It's, ah, been a long couple of days."

A long five years.

Alana nods, her eyes dark with sympathy and affection, and then she stands and circles the table, behind Hannibal. Will watches her, a smile almost playful on his face, and she grins back, leaning down and squeezing his shoulders from behind, and kisses the top of his wild hair.

Hannibal drops his gaze, sees Will's hands not curled, not white. He's relaxed and sweet with joy under Alana's touch, and Hannibal curses his own carefulness, his own steadfast adherence to the rules and traditions, for clearly even the time he left them alone was enough for them to regain familiarity with each other. Alana wraps her arms around Will's chest, nips playfully at his hair and Will is purring, he's purring so loudly.

"Come on," Alana says, and pulls back, tugging Will so that he stands. Will goes, his eyes bright and eager, as she takes his hand and leads him towards the stairs. Hannibal swallows, finishes his glass, and follows them. He sees Will's neck go tense, naturally sensitive to the feeling of an Alpha chasing him, so he pulls back and gives Will his space.

When they go to the bedroom, Alana shrugs off her dress, revealing a black satiny slip beneath which is technically modest, but certainly lovely enough to draw the attention of both her men. Will growls, goes to her, presses his hands flat on her hips and dips his head to kiss her.

Hannibal has always loved the sight of his mates together. Will is taller than Alana, enough that he has to bow his head obviously, and she must lift up to her toes, to get their lips to meet. The different colors of brown in his hair had always been a lovely contrast to the sleek monochrome flatness of her own, and the way they fit together, strong jaws, lowered lashes. The way she would curl into his chest, into the natural curve of his own body when he held her – well, there are pages and pages of Hannibal's sketchbooks dedicated to such things. Or, there were. He destroyed them six months after Will's disappearance, at the same time as they'd dismantled his nest.

He watches them for a while, admiring the beauty that is his two mates together, before he divests himself of his sweater, his button-down, and his shoes and socks, leaving him in a white t-shirt and comfortable suit pants. By the time he's done, Will's slick scent and Alana's arousal have filled the room, stinging at his nose. He breathes in, deeply, greedily, his fingers curling.

He turns to find that they have migrated to bed. Alana is cradled against Will's chest, and there is an equal space on either side of them for Hannibal to choose where he lies. He regards it, hesitating – he wants to go to Will's back, wants to cover and consume his mate, spread his scent and spread Will's legs and remind him what it's like to be under the weight of an Alpha who loves him.

But Will is still too fresh, too new from his torture and injuries. His wrists, paler now, are still bruised, and so is his neck. His scent is too feverish – though the Neutral stops his heat, it is not a form of birth control, and Will is fertile. If Hannibal mounts him, he may get pregnant, and that is not something any of them are in a fit state to consider, let alone deal with.

Will turns his head, his cheek pressed to Alana's hair, and eyes him.

Hannibal sighs to himself, and circles to Alana's side of the bed, climbing in behind her. Will makes a sound that tastes like relief on Hannibal's tongue and he hates it, he _hates_ it. Hates that Will is relieved that Hannibal didn't go to his side of the bed, that he isn't touching Will. Again, the dichotomy hits him – Will's eagerness and his hesitance, his need and his fear. This creature had thrown itself against his cage and demanded to be mounted, had begged for Hannibal in his nest, had allowed Hannibal to touch his hand and smiled at him – but it had also gone for Hannibal's neck, had also tried to bring him closer to rip out his throat, had whimpered with relief when Hannibal chose to press his body against Alana instead of Will.

It is the deepest kind of ache, and one he doesn't know how to remedy, for by its nature his presence exacerbates it. He cannot bear the thought of separating the three of them now, would not allow it for Hell or high water, but -.

His thoughts still, suddenly, as Will reaches out and gently, gently, spreads his hand over Hannibal's forearm, where it's resting at his side. Hannibal blinks – he's more propped up on the pillows than his mates, putting his head higher than theirs as is customary, so he can see when Will squeezes his arm, tugs on it, and lets their laced fingers come to rest over Alana's bared thigh.

He shivers, licks his lips, noses Alana's forehead as her hand covers both of theirs. "I missed you so much," he breathes, weakly, shattered from the base of his neck. He squeezes Hannibal's fingers, lifts his thumb so it tucks into the meat of Alana's, under her palm. "Both of you."

Alana lifts her gaze and Will lowers his head, kisses her with parted lips, seeking tongue, his cheeks flushed. Her free hand slides up, wraps around the nape of his neck, squeezing, pale fingers buried in Will's hair like Hannibal aches to do. He redirects the urge to Alana, instead, allows her to act as buffer and bearer of his desires.

He parts his lips, kisses her neck and his forehead, his nose, touches Will's jaw. Will pulls back with a low whine, his eyes golden and wild, and Hannibal sighs, nuzzles Alana's neck, and squeezes Will's hand before letting go.

"Get some rest, Will," he says, as gently as he can manage. Will's hand doesn't move from Alana's hip, and he gives a soft sound, almost like a complaint. His other arm wraps around Alana's back, pulling her close, and his hands settle on her, possessive and wide. Hannibal allows him to pull her away, sighs as Alana buries her face in Will's neck and clutches back at him just as tightly.

He closes his eyes, and settles into sleep. At least, now, the room smells more like all three of them, and settles the violent sharpness of his teeth somewhat.

 

 

Hannibal wakes when Alana stirs, rising from the bed. Will is on his own, at the far side, his back to the two of them. Hannibal lets out a soft, complaining rumble as she crawls over him and gets to her feet. She smiles, and leans down to kiss his forehead, petting his flat hair.

"I have to go meet with one of my students," she tells him quietly, so as not to wake Will. "I'll be back in an hour or so, I'll be as quick as I can."

Hannibal nods, inwardly annoyed that their schedules could not be so cleared that they would be able to spend as much time as possible with Will, all three of them. She goes to the bathroom and shuts the door behind her, and the sound of the water running fills the air in a low thrum.

Will stirs, a soft whimper falling from his mouth, and he rolls over in bed, nuzzling the heated dip where Alana was. His eyelids flutter, open, and sharpen when he meets Hannibal's gaze. He goes tense, and lifts his head, seeking her.

"She's in the shower," Hannibal says quietly. He does not reach for Will, though he desperately wants to. Will swallows, and nods, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "She has to go speak with one of her students. If you'd like, we can begin the sketches of your captors to give to Jack."

Will nods, absently, like he's not quite registering what Hannibal is saying. He looks down, breathes in. "Alright."

"Will," Hannibal says, and Will's eyes snap to him, dark and gunmetal blue. "I want you to know that your comfort, your safety and happiness, are all I care about right now. I have no desire to hurt you, or touch you without your consent."

"My consent," Will repeats, giving another short nod. He rubs at his cheek, wincing at the first itching appearance of scruff there. He looks at Hannibal, assessing, his eyes raking down the line of Hannibal's body buried beneath blankets. "One might argue my consent, and my ability to give it, is compromised."

Hannibal tilts his head. "Is it?"

"Is it?" Will parrots back, his tone sharp. "I asked you to mount me, you refused. I didn't want to take Neutral, you told me to anyway. I asked for you to come to my nest, and you didn't, and now you -." He stops, lets out a low snarl, fingers clenching. "Now you give me birth control and suppressants, without me asking for them."

Hannibal frowns, but he cannot reply before Alana emerges from the shower, a towel around her head and another tucked under her arms. Her flesh is pink from the heat and Hannibal watches Will's chin lift, his eyes darken and flash gold with desire. She smiles at them both, and goes to the wardrobe, picking out a dress that is a swirl of blue, black, and white, as well as a matching black set of underwear.

She turns to them and raises an eyebrow. "Looking for a show?" she asks, lightly. Hannibal marvels her ability to behave so normally, the teasing and flirtatious woman he had known before Will's disappearance.

Will breathes out, says, weakly; "You're so beautiful."

Her cheeks flush darker, and she smiles at him. "Charmer," she says, bright and happy. She lets her towel drop and Will sucks in a breath, peels back the blankets and crawls to her. He's still wearing what he was last night, his pants and long shirt highlighting the paleness of his skin as he settles on his knees at the end of the bed, beside her clothes.

She huffs a small laugh, playful when Will reaches for her, tugs her to the end of the bed and nuzzles her bared neck. He breathes in, deeply, and lets out a growl of complaint. "Too clean," he murmurs, and she laughs again, batting her hands on his shoulders.

"Easy, tiger," she says, and grabs her clothes, holding them like a shield to her chest. "I have to go, and I won't have you making me late!"

He smiles at her, tugging on her hand when she moves away. "One kiss," he says, and she rolls her eyes and Hannibal cannot help smiling, because he knows this game Will plays as much as he knows the layout of his house. Either she's forgotten, or she wants to play along, because she lets Will pull her close, tilts her head and cups his face and then Will suddenly wraps his arms around her, pulling her over and rolling her onto the bed. She lets out a squeal, shocked and offended, and hits his shoulder.

"Will, you let me up right now!"

Will laughs, and cups her face with both hands, leaning down to kiss her deeply. Hannibal sits forward, a smile on his face as he watches the familiar roll of their bodies, the strong arch of Will's shoulders against the pulled-tight fabric of his shirt. Watches her pale hands flatten out widely on his back, her eyes closing, body lifting up in invitation.

Will pulls back, leaves her breathless and Hannibal wonders how many times he's done that – how many times before he was taken, had he managed to render Alana and Hannibal speechless with nothing but a smile, nothing more than an errant touch or a sweet kiss? More times than Hannibal can remember, more than he could count.

Will rolls off of her and lets her up. She gives him a thinly-veiled look of amusement, and rises, sliding her feet through the leg holes in her underwear and pulling them into place, then her bra. She slides the dress over her head and shoulders, lets it shimmy into place, and finally unravels her hair, throws the towel into the same heap where the other fell, and pulls her hair over her shoulder, to the side.

She turns, circles the bed to Hannibal's side, and cups his cheek gently and gives him a warm kiss. She tastes like toothpaste, and like Will, and he growls when she pulls away from him.

"You boys behave," she says, and runs a hand through her hair, encouraging air through the roots to dry it. She slips on the same golden shoes she wore to visit Charlie, which sit by the door, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

Will is still on his back, on the bed, a lazy sprawl that takes up most of the free space. Hannibal looks at him and Will's chest rises with a sudden inhale, he rolls onto his side and tucks his hand underneath his cheek, tilts his head to meet Hannibal's eyes.

Hannibal presses his lips together, and looks away.

Will sighs, and pushes himself upright and off the bed. "I guess I'll make coffee. If you still have that stupid glorified chemistry set then I'm stealing your car and going to Dunkin', I don't care if -."

"Will."

Will freezes, halfway to the door. He turns and looks at Hannibal over his shoulder.

Hannibal looks down at his hands, curls his fingers, and then meets Will's eyes. He has so many things he wants to say, but forcing Will to just let him talk is as bad as touching him without his permission, and there's so much, far too much, for Hannibal to push into one conversation.

He lets out his breath, long and slow, and sits forward. "Will," he begins again, folding his hands together. This would be easier in any other room of the house – the dining room, over fine food and wine; the study, in low firelight where Will's shadows grow wild and familiar; the kitchen, in stark contrast, where Hannibal is more in control. Not here, never here, where Hannibal is little more than a beast of passion and want, with Will's scent in his sheets and filling his lungs, that sweet, fertile stretch of skin and flesh that he has become standing mere feet away, as though waiting for him.

"Hannibal," Will replies, when Hannibal can only sit and stare and say nothing. He turns fully, cants his hip, shifts his weight to one foot, and folds his arms over his chest. He tilts his head. "Something you wanna say?"

 _So many things_. Hannibal presses his lips together, rolls his shoulders.

"If you don't want to be on birth control and suppressants, don't take them."

Will blinks at him, leans back like the words were a physical push. His arms tense, and then fall to his sides, and he presses his fingers together one by one, an anxious tic Hannibal hasn't seen for many years.

He swallows. "Why did you get them?" he asks, and takes a step forward. Hannibal huffs, tenses, looks away. " _Look_ at me."

Hannibal feels the order down to his bones, remembers too late that with Will's attack on Gideon, he earned a temporary Voice. Even with his separation from Hannibal, even after his torture, he has one, and the power to use it. Hannibal's eyes snap to Will's, his chin lifts in a challenge, and Will takes another step forward.

"Why did you get them?" he asks again. When Hannibal is silent, Will shivers, and takes one more step forward. His knee hits the corner of the bed, on Hannibal's side, and he anxiously curls his fingers in his sleeves, tugs them down, and tilts his head to show Hannibal his throat – placating, desperate. "Please, tell me."

He doesn't use his Voice, but the plea curls in Hannibal's gut as hard as a punch.

He sighs. "In most cases involving sexual assault and kidnapping," he begins, but Will snarls, loudly, and shows his teeth. His eyes flash, a brilliant, molten gold, and he kneels on the bed, prowling closer and it doesn't escape Hannibal that, like this, his easiest exit is cut off. Will is hemming him in, forcing him to address the situation and Hannibal never considered himself a coward but having Will so close, looking at him like this, makes him shake.

He swallows. "Forgive me," he says, and Will nods, settling on his knees, his hands spreading out wide on his thighs. He fixes Hannibal with an impatient look and Hannibal sighs again, shakes his head, and lifts his shoulders. If Will wants brutal honesty, then that's what he shall receive;

"The last thing we need right now is for you to get pregnant."

And he knows, as soon as he said it, that the tone, the phrasing, the whole Goddamn thing, was wrong. Will flinches from him in the exact way Hannibal feared he would, pulls back and rears back, turns his head away and stares, black-eyed, at the open door to the bathroom.

He says, deadly-soft; "Because you don't want to breed with me."

Hannibal frowns. "No," he says, and Will takes in a deep, shaky breath, presses his lips together, and Hannibal realizes his error again. "No, Will, no, that's not what I mean."

He cannot hold himself back anymore. He pushes from the headboard, to his knees, and reaches out to gently cup Will's face. Will doesn't flinch, but he doesn't lean in, either. He goes utterly still, lashes low to hide his eyes, and exhales heavily.

"It's not a question of what I want," Hannibal says, his voice soft. "Darling, that's not the reason at all."

" _Why_ , then?" Will hisses, and lifts his eyes. They're blazing, they're dark, and the scent of him is sharp with anger. He takes Hannibal's wrist and pushes his touch away from his face, planting their hands on the bed instead.

"Because you -." Hannibal stops, and sighs. Will is being incendiary again, hoping to goad Hannibal with his Voice, with his snarl, with his beautiful eyes and bared neck. Hannibal tugs his hand away, and rises from the bed. "It doesn't matter. The fact is that you only just came home, and there are still too many things we must talk about and resolve before we can talk about…that."

" _That_ ," Will repeats, growling the word. He stands as well, but does not chase Hannibal, as he goes to the back of the bedroom door and pulls on his long grey robe.

He is tying it when he hears Will say, very quietly, almost daring Hannibal to hear; "I hope we do find those people. At least that Alpha was willing to touch me."

Hannibal freezes. He stays still, so that he does not turn. So that he does not snarl, and lunge for Will, and bite and mark him until Will understands just how _willing_ Hannibal is to touch him. His fingers curl into fists and he takes a deep breath, and it tastes like Will, his slick and his warmth sitting heavily on Hannibal's tongue.

"I'm afraid, darling, you're merely proving my point," he says coldly, and looks at Will, sees the gold shining in his eyes and sees his upper teeth, exposed by his snarling mouth. "Clearly you're too emotional to deal with the reality of going into heat and bearing a child."

He sees the words hit, sees them wound. Will's shoulders sag and he presses his lips together. Hannibal looks away from him – they have always, it seems, been singularly capable when it comes to hurting each other.

"I'll make us some coffee, and some breakfast," he says coolly. "When you're ready, come downstairs and we will eat, and begin those sketches."

Will's voice is sullen and sharp, and echoes in Hannibal's ruined mind palace when he says, "As you wish, _Alpha_."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Will talks about his abuse in this chapter, including listening to assault. It's not graphic, but it's there.

"The man had a receding hairline. Brown hair. Short."

Hannibal nods, his eyes set on his sketchbook as he adds a thin line of hair to the top of his sketch. Beside him sit pages of other sketches, discarded for one reason or another. The girl's hair too curly, her nose too long, her lips too thin. The man's eyes too far apart, his ears too high up on his head. Will is a direct and strict guide for his hand – he will not allow any flaw, anything that would mean the difference between identification and being passed over.

They have both eaten, and on the opposite couch, Will sits, reclined and relaxed. He's nursing his cup of coffee – black, and sweetened with caramel syrup, just as he likes. He'd seemed almost surprised when Hannibal handed to him, like Hannibal might have forgotten in those five years, how he takes it.

Hannibal tilts his head, and turns his sketchbook so Will can see; "Like this?"

Will's eyes snap to him, sit on his face for a long, long time, before he lowers his gaze and tilts his head, eyeing the page. He shakes his head and looks away. "His nose was wider," he says. "Off-angle. I think he'd broken it, a long time ago."

Hannibal nods, and corrects his book so he can adjust the nose. "High or low?" he asks.

"Low," Will says, and thumbs at his own nose, tilting it towards his right side. "Like this."

Hannibal nods again, committing the angle and bulge to memory, and for a long moment the only sound is his pencil tracing across the paper – light for now, he will darken the edges when Will is satisfied.

Then, Will sighs, and sips his coffee. "I want to apologize," he says.

Hannibal pauses, and lifts his gaze. "Whatever for?" he asks.

Will presses his lips together, tilts his head to show Hannibal his neck, and Hannibal's fingers tighten. Will had been mostly silent through breakfast, only giving a soft 'Thank you' when their meal was done. Yet for the last half hour, his voice has teased Hannibal's senses, caressed his ear and settled deep in his chest. Will is home, he's _home_ , and Hannibal is overjoyed.

"I'm not sure," Will finally says. "I don't even think that if I could identify a specific thing, I would apologize for it. But I want to anyway." He huffs a laugh and lifts his shoulders, sipping his coffee again. "I've gotten into the habit of being quiet. Thinking internally. I suppose, as a result, my ability to vocalize my thoughts in a clear and rational way has been compromised."

 _Compromised._ He keeps using that word.

Hannibal tilts his head, considering this, and lets his sketchbook rest against his lap, ignored for now. "Do you think it would benefit you to talk to someone?" he asks. Will's eyes snap to him, unfathomably dark. "Someone who is licensed to deal with cases like yours."

Will frowns. "You and Alana are both therapists," he says.

"But we are your mates. Our relationship with you means we are incapable of being rational."

At that, Will smiles, though it's strained. "I didn't mate with you because of your rationality," he says. "Or Alana."

"Will, do not do yourself any disservice. I have no doubt that, even when you were going into heat, you were fully aware of what you were doing at all times." Will turns his head away, humming. "Even if the motivations were…somewhat skewed."

"You mean like when I attacked you," Will says. "And Alana."

"There is a phenomenon that plagues Alphas and Omegas during time of high stress, or during rut and heat. Those struck by it are unable to tell friend from stranger. They simply see 'Alpha', or 'Omega', and do not register whether they know that other person, or whether they are safe with that person."

Will sighs, and looks down into his coffee mug. "You think that's why?" he asks.

"I think it's as good an explanation as any," Hannibal replies. "Unless you have some alternate theory."

Will huffs, but doesn't fall for Hannibal's bait. His eyes slant over, narrowed and dark, his smile wide enough to show his teeth. "I missed you," he says, and Hannibal blinks, because it wasn't what he was expecting Will to say at all. "It's refreshing, to be around someone who would rather violate my mind than my body."

Hannibal freezes, his fingers tightening on the edge of his book, and he swallows, so that he doesn't growl. "I don't want to violate you," he says tightly. "That is the last thing I want."

"Through your reasoning, everything I submit to is a violation," Will replies with a nod, his tone airy, cold, like winter clouds. "You don't think I'm capable of giving my consent. Of knowing what I want." He pauses, and says in a whisper, " _Who_ I want."

"Will -."

"Did you feel the same way about Charlie?" Will asks, before Hannibal can say anything else. "When he asked for his wife, did you worry she would touch him, that her touches on him would be given without his consent? He actually _was_ mounted, you know."

Hannibal stares, and Will drops his eyes, his face tightening with memory. "I still remember what he sounded like," he says. "Him, and David, and Gregory. And I hate how it made me feel."

Hannibal closes his sketchbook, and sits forward until his elbows are resting on his knees. "How did it make you feel, Will?"

"…Strong," Will says, soft as a confession. Hannibal tilts his head. "I didn’t go into heat. I didn't lose my mind, lose control, like they did. I was the first one. I was the one who got to see their faces. I was the one they wanted first, but couldn't have. I felt…" He licks his lips, and his voice is deeply, deeply ashamed. "I felt powerful."

"Will, because of you, Charlie is alive," Hannibal says. He can see the pain on his mate's face, smell his distress, and he wants to go to Will, desperately. Wants to take the coffee from his hands and replace the heat of it with his own. Wants to cover Will, and press him to the couch, and promise that he is here, that he will never let Will go again. "Because of your inability to go into heat, you were able to take care of them. Of all of them, until the end."

Will sighs, nodding to himself. "I hate feeling this way," he says. "I'm not any better or any worse than they were. I was just…. I just happened to have an implant. That's it. One decision when I was younger that ended up hurting three other men."

Hannibal frowns, and looks down at his folded hands. He doesn't want Will to think of it like that. He doesn't want Will to be ashamed, or feel guilty or responsible, but this is how Will thinks – he is the martyr, the protector, and five years is a long time to bond with people, and to watch them be lost – well, Hannibal knows that shame intimately.

Will swallows, and sets his coffee mug down on the floor. Hannibal lifts his head, eyes widening when Will stands, and pulls up the sleeve of his shirt, baring his arm and the top of his shoulder. He lifts his arm and Hannibal sees a knot of scar tissue, bulging slightly. He stands, and goes to Will, gently taking his arm in hand and turning it to inspect.

Will meets his gaze when Hannibal looks at him. "I had David do it," he says.

The scarring is old. This was not done recently. Hannibal frowns. "What is this?"

Will sighs, and drops his arm, and lets his sleeve unravel. "It's where my implant was," he replies.

Hannibal's eyes widen, and he sucks in a breath. "You tore it out?" he whispers.

Will closes his eyes, swallows, and nods. "I was ready," he says, and opens his eyes again, looking to Hannibal. "I couldn't stand it anymore, Hannibal. Gregory was weak – he was going to die giving birth, or soon after, and I didn't think the baby would make it, so I…"

He swallows, and shakes his head. "I didn't think they'd leave."

"So when you challenged me, and said you were finally willing…"

"I knew what I was doing," Will says coldly. His eyes snap to Hannibal's, his chin lifts in challenge. "I was the healthiest, I was the strongest. I was the one the female had bonded with – I knew she'd take care of me."

Hannibal's emotions are too deep, too dark a swirl to pinpoint just one; there is sorrow, deep sorrow, at the look in Will's eyes. There is anger, impotent and strong at knowing just how much his mate had suffered. There is outrage, that Will would willingly give these abusers something he had never seemed to want to give Hannibal.

"I see I was right," he says coolly, stepping away. "Perhaps you are still blind."

There is a snarl, right before Will's hand lands heavy and tight on his shoulder and spins him around. "You didn't _look_ for me!" he growls, and shoves Hannibal down onto the couch, onto his sketchbook. Will looms over him, feral and full of rage, his eyes burning with gold. "Every fucking day, I told myself you would come. You would find me. I believed that, I trusted that when I had nothing else to trust, and you didn't _come_ , Hannibal."

Hannibal growls, and pushes himself upright, but Will doesn't back down, and their chests knock together. Will bares his teeth, lifts his chin, brilliant in his wrath. Even in his defiance, even in his anger, he is beautiful.

"You didn't _come_ ," he says again. "And I had to listen, for fucking _years_ , to people who trusted me and looked to me for protection get _violated_ , over and over again. I had to listen to Charlie crying, to Gregory when he was so sick he couldn't even speak. I had to _kill_ them to feed the survivors, and where were you?"

"I thought you had _left_ ," Hannibal snaps. He doesn't want to succumb to his anger – Will is deliberately pulling at him, trying to get a reaction, and Hannibal can't let him do it but it's difficult, it's so difficult, to keep his emotions in check. The walls of his mind palace where Will dwells are rumbling, collapsing, something hot and volcanic rising in his chest and threatening to overflow. His head is hot and his teeth itch – Will would submit to him, if Hannibal put a hand on him. If he used his Voice, and got his teeth in Will's nape. He would do it because he had no other choice.

Will's laugh is bitter, spiteful, and he shrugs with his entire upper body. "Of course you did," he hisses, his eyes all-gold now, burning. Hannibal can taste the caramel and coffee in his exhale. "You must think me so _cold_ , so hateful, that I would just leave the people I love without even a note!"

"I didn't want to think that, I didn't want to believe that, but Alana -."

Will blinks, pulling back. Hannibal swallows, and looks away.

"What about Alana?" Will whispers. Hannibal sighs, shaking his head, only to open his eyes when Will digs a sharp hand into his chin and forces their eyes to meet. "Fucking look at me when I'm talking to you."

"You were gone," Hannibal says. Will blinks, and his hand dropped. "I searched for you, Will, I did. But there was nothing of you to find." And he knows why, now, he knows, but that doesn't make it any better. "I couldn't bear another night of coming home, with no word nor sign from you, and seeing the look on her face when she realized I'd failed again."

Will looks at him, for a very long time. He only breaks gazes when they hear, at the front door, the jingle of keys, the gentle _whoosh_ of displaced air. Just like that, the tension dissolves, and Will looks at him once more, swallowing. Then, he turns, and practically flees out of the study, through the dining room, and into the hallway.

"Will, oh!"

Hannibal follows, and stops when he sees Will has pulled Alana into a tight hug, his face buried in her neck. His shoulders are shaking and Alana embraces him back, turning to look at Hannibal with a wide-eyed, questioning stare.

Hannibal sighs, and shakes his head.

Will pulls back, and cups her face, bringing her gaze back to him. He looks at her, as if searching, and then kisses her passionately, with enough force that she is pressed flat to the wall. She gasps in surprise, but arches to him eagerly enough, sighing when his hands wrap in her hair, gripping tight. Hannibal swallows, a sharp burst of longing in his chest, and returns to the study, grabbing his sketchbook and the crumpled pieces of paper.

He takes his seat, but he can still hear them;

"I love you." That's Will, deep and ragged. "I love you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry -."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Her voice is soft, so tender and sweet. Hannibal stares, blankly, at the picture of the Alpha he has drawn. Imagines him with deep claw marks on his face and his flesh peeled from his body. "Will, you're shaking."

"I'm sorry," Will says again, and Hannibal swallows, thinking back to Will's words – he wants to apologize, not for what he did, not for how he behaved then, or in the hospital. For something else. Or maybe he feels that Alana is the only one worthy of his regret. Hannibal bears his anger, his outrage, because he can. Because he has to.

Hannibal is, mercifully, pulled from his thoughts by the ring of his cell phone. He takes it out of his pocket, frowning at the unknown number, and answers; "Doctor Lecter."

"Hi, Doctor!" It's Charlie. He sounds happy, and relaxed. "Sorry for the early call. Rosanna and I are driving down to Baltimore today to stay in the hotel Agent Crawford arranged. I was wondering, if Will is feeling up to it, if we could all have dinner or something?"

Hannibal presses his lips together, and sighs through his nose. He lifts his eyes as he hears Alana's soft, breathless moan, hears Will growl in answer. He doesn't want to interrupt, certainly, and the thought of going out to his mates, of smelling Will's slick, in his current emotional state is sure to do more harm than good.

But, "I'll see if he's feeling up to it," he says cordially. "One moment."

He stands, phone pressed to his chest, and goes out to the hallway again. Will still has Alana pressed to the wall, one hand below her dress, spread out wide on her thigh, his other still fisted in her hair as he kisses her. Hannibal can smell her arousal, smell Will getting slick. She gasps, eyes tightly shut, as Will mouths down her jaw, to her neck.

He clears his throat, and Alana looks at him, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed. "Hannibal," she breathes. "What is it?"

"Charlie's on the phone," he says. Will pulls back at that, his hands parting from Alana. His lips are swollen, a dark pink, and Hannibal swallows when he sees Will's blush, his bare cheeks not hiding it nearly as well as his beard did. "He invited the three of us to dinner, with him and Rosanna."

Alana smiles, her eyes soft with pleasure. "Of course," she says. She clears her throat, straightening and absently petting down her dress, correcting it so it sits above her knees.   "We'd be delighted, wouldn't we, Will?"

Will looks at Hannibal, his face carefully impassive, and he rubs his thumb along his lower lip, and smiles. "Yeah," he says. Hannibal tries to ignore the scent of him, the bulge of his cock in his sweatpants, but the clothing does little to hide it. "Dinner sounds great."

"We should invite them here," Alana says brightly. "If there's enough meat to cook."

Hannibal tilts his head, and viciously tamps out the suspicion that she wants him to go hunting so that she and Will would have some time alone. "Of course," he says, and turns away, raising the phone to his ear again.

"Hannibal, wait," Will says, and Hannibal turns to see him crossing the threshold into the dining room. He swallows, dips his eyes in a coy, sweet gesture, and rubs his hand across the side of his neck. "Can I talk to him?"

Hannibal nods, and hands him the phone.

"Charlie?" Hannibal watches as Will's expression melts completely, and his scent becomes thick with relief, like mint touched with chocolate. He nods to Will, and goes to Alana who has remained in the hallway.

She smiles at him, low-lidded and wide, and lets him kiss her. He growls at the taste of Will on her tongue.

She huffs when he parts, rolling her eyes. "Are you boys going to have to learn to share again?" she says teasingly.

Yet Hannibal winces, for it was never a matter of 'sharing' Alana, between the three of them – they gave and took of each other equally, and it was Hannibal who first proposed romantic intentions towards Will. It is not Alana's bite that Will bears. It is not _her_ knot that he craves. It is not her Voice that would send Will to his knees.

He swallows back his instinctively sharp retort, and smiles instead. "Of course not, my love," he says, and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Forgive me – it's been a long time since we have had our mate in our home. I am easily overwhelmed by him."

She tilts her head, brows creasing as she considers him. Her eyes move to the doorway of the dining room, and Hannibal can hear him speaking lowly, but too quietly to make out what he's saying. She leans in, and says, just as soft; "How are things going with him?"

"Honestly? Not well," Hannibal replies with a sigh. He cups her arms with both hands, slides them up and down, absently petting her. She hums and leans into him, her forehead touching his shoulder. "He is, at his core, very hurt and betrayed by the fact that we did not search for him. That I gave up."

She shakes her head and sighs. Her fingers rise, and settle on his chest, and curl. "I just wish…"

He nods, cradling her close, and sets his cheek on top of her head. "I know," he replies. With just one twist of fate, at any point, things could have gone so much differently. He wants to tell her about the implant. He wants to tell her that Will did, fully, intend to breed with that Alpha. But those burdens should only be his, because Will chose to tell only him – because he is an Alpha, because his instincts are set to rage and ruin against such a notion. Will means to tug on his possessiveness, at his pride, for a reason Hannibal has yet to figure out.

She sighs, and pulls away, wiping below her eyes. "Will you go hunt for us?" she asks. "If you'd rather go out, that's fine, but I don't think Will should be around that many people."

A condition Hannibal did not consider. And he supposes Jack would not look too kindly on the notion of Will being free to move about in public. He blinks, and hums, nodding in agreement. "I think you're right," he replies. Again, something possessive and wild purrs in his chest, of having Will sit and dine with them, on food Hannibal hunted to provide. It will help Will remember Hannibal's ability as a protector and provider, might soften his teeth and his cruel tongue from wanting to open another wound.

He kisses Alana's hair, and turns to head upstairs and dress to go out. "I will be back shortly," he says. He already has the perfect person in mind. "Please have Will tell Charlie that dinner will be at seven."

She smiles, and nods, and goes to the dining room. By the time Hannibal has dressed, grabbed his keys and coat, and returned downstairs, he sees a light on in the study but nowhere else. He hears Alana, moaning, and Will's desperate whine.

He sighs, shakes off the frantic urge to go to his mates, and leaves to gather their dinner.

 

 

When he returns, he can tell they have gone up to Will's nest. The air is heavy with the lingering scent of sex. He doesn't call for them, but gathers his cooler of harvested organs and heads straight to the kitchen to begin preparations. He has kidneys – they are the most versatile of organs and easiest to disguise – and some intestine he can make into sausage.

He is setting about laying out his tools and equipment when he becomes aware of a presence at the doorway. He turns, and sees Will, shadowed from the darkness behind him, leaning his weight on the doorframe, a fond smile on his face. His hair is damp, clinging to his face and neck, and he's dressed in a loose white t-shirt that looks far too large for him, and long sleep pants that pool around his ankles and heels.

He's wearing Hannibal's clothes, and Hannibal's stomach tenses up, _sharply_ , when he realizes.

Will dips his head, blushing when Hannibal cannot help purring, turning to face his mate fully. He wipes his hands on a towel and Will lifts his eyes again, looks at Hannibal under the fall of his wild hair.

"How do I look?" he asks, smiling.

"Radiant," Hannibal replies. "But unfit for dinner, if that's what you're planning to wear."

Will laughs, and it's a sweet sound. He runs a hand through his hair and down his neck, tugging the collar just enough that Hannibal sees the edges of hickeys and love bites on his pale skin. He swallows – Alana likes to bite. She always liked biting Will.

"What are we having?" Will asks, and steps into the kitchen.

"Kidneys," Hannibal replies. "And sausage. I intended to pair them with some of the -."

He stops, as Will approaches him, and reaches out to touch gentle fingertips to Hannibal's cheek. Hannibal's words stutter, clogged in his throat, and he looks at Will with wide eyes. He can smell his scent on his clothes, clinging to Will – and underneath his shampoo and body wash, Alana still lingering. Will finally smells like all three of them again, he smells like home, and Hannibal could weep with relief but he's too frozen to do much of anything.

Will tilts his head, his eyes mapping Hannibal's face, and Hannibal doesn't know what he's looking for, but he desperately hopes Will sees it.

Will swallows, and his fingers slide to Hannibal's neck, press as though feeling for his pulse. "Alana and I slept together," he says. Hannibal nods, knowing this already. "I'd forgotten what it felt like, to touch someone who loves you."

Hannibal's fingers curl, tightly, at his sides.

"When I spoke to Charlie, I asked him if he was okay." Will's eyes are ocean-dark, but they shine, and he takes another step forward. "You know what he said to me?"

"Tell me," he breathes, hardly more than air.

"He said 'I'm okay, because she's here'. His wife. He…" Will smiles, almost awed, and shakes his head. His hand moves to Hannibal's chest, now, and he's standing close enough that Hannibal could embrace him, could kiss him, if Will wanted it. "Nothing mattered to him. Not the assault. Not the cage. Not even killing and eating one of our kind. Because his wife was with him, and I guess I…"

He stops, swallows, dips his eyes down briefly to the back of his hand. His wrists look better, now, no longer pink or chafed.

"Touching Alana felt like that," he says. His voice is thick, heavy, and he lifts his eyes again. "I want touching you to feel like that, too."

"It can," Hannibal whispers, though he doesn't know how to make it so. "I want that, Will, desperately." Will presses his lips together, silent, considering – waiting? Hannibal feels something anticipatory between them, but he dares not force it. "I know to try and capture what we had before is foolish, and futile, and it suggests that there is something lesser about having you now, and that's not what I want. I just…need to know how to help you. What you need from me – I will tear my own heart out and give it to you if you ask."

Will huffs a laugh, but his smile is wide. "So dramatic," he says kindly. He looks down, reaches down with his free hand, and takes Hannibal's in his own. "Then I suppose I should make this perfectly clear."

Hannibal nods, and allows Will to pull him close. Shivers, desperate, as Will tugs his hand to his waist, lets it flatten, and settle. His hand slides from Hannibal's chest, up, to cup his jaw.

"I want you to touch me," he says, breathy and soft. Hannibal digs his fingers in, tightens them in his borrowed shirt. "I want you by my side in our bed, as often as you are by Alana's. I want you to come to my nest when I ask for you."

Hannibal nods, his heart racing.

"I want you to kiss me," Will says, though he does not lift his eyes, not yet, so Hannibal cannot in that moment. He takes Hannibal's other hand, guides it to his hair, leans in and down so Hannibal can knot his fingers in the thick, damp curls. Will's lashes flutter, instinctively placated and pacified by the touch of his Alpha, and he slides in close, tight in Hannibal's arms.

He looks up, finally, and meets Hannibal's eyes, and sighs, leaning in. His cheek rests on Hannibal's shoulder, nose tucked to his neck, and Hannibal sags, clinging to him, holding him close. He buries his face in Will's hair, shivering when Will embraces him in return, nails dug tight to Hannibal's back.

It's everything Hannibal has wanted, desperately, since he heard that Will was found. His mate's scent in his lungs, his warmth pressed tight to Hannibal's chest – his sweet whine, a softer high note to Hannibal's purr.

Hannibal can't take it anymore. He tugs on Will's hair, draws him back, and Will only has a moment to let out a soft, plaintive sound, before Hannibal cups his face with both hands and kisses him. Will gasps, but responds immediately, throwing himself against Hannibal's chest and Hannibal has to let go of his face, wrap his hands around Will's hips and tug him close instead.

He turns Will and presses him against the kitchen counter, growling when Will whimpers, spreading his legs. He digs his nails into Hannibal's shoulders, urging him closer, his kiss raw and desperate. He parts his lips for Hannibal's tongue, shivers and whines when Hannibal nips his lower lip. Hannibal can taste the heat of him, smell him, slick and wanting, and oh, what temptation it is to pull Will's too-loose lounge pants down. He could lift Will onto the counter right here, and mount him next to the meal he will prepare. He could do it, he could -.

Will moans, pulling back so he can drag in desperate gulps of air. His eyes are burning, golden and bright, his lips bruised and red, cheeks flushed, and it's spreading down his neck and Hannibal wants to bite at him, to suck sweet bruises and dark marks to Will's flesh to mirror Alana's. His fingers flex in Will's hips and he swallows, forcing himself to step back.

"Forgive me," he says, and clears his throat, for his voice is hoarse.

Will huffs, and runs a hand through his hair. He smiles. "No," he replies. Hannibal tilts his head, brows lifting. "Why should I forgive you? You did exactly what I wanted."

"I'm glad," Hannibal replies, purring and pleased. He manages, with utmost reluctance, to pull his hands from Will's hips, and settle them on the counter on either side of him instead.

Will sighs, and rubs his hand over his neck. "I missed you," he says, sweet and soft.

Hannibal swallows, and cups his cheek, and pulls him into another kiss. "I missed you too, darling."


	11. Chapter 11

Will gets dressed in a blue t-shirt and black slacks, and returns to the kitchen, watching as Hannibal cooks and prepares for dinner. Alana comes down soon after and Hannibal cannot describe the bone-deep satisfaction he feels, having both of his mates in the kitchen with him, smiling and sitting on bar stools as they watch him work. He is making risotto to go with the kidneys and sausage, and a fresh salad of spinach, strawberries, feta and red onions. If Charlie is half as malnourished as Will, he will appreciate the heavy meal.

Alana's brow furrows as she watches him prepare the sausages, tying off the lining so they form neat links. "Will Charlie recognize the, ah, specific type of meat?" she asks, and looks to Will. Her hair is damp from a shower and she's dressed in light blue, a swirl of cream around the collar of her dress that floats down to the golden belt around her waist.

Will frowns, head tilting like he hadn't considered this. "I don't think so," he says, slowly. He has a glass of wine in his hand and sips at it, humming in pleasure at the sweet taste. While he was out the day before, Hannibal made sure to gather sweet things to sate Will's appetite. "We ate raw, after all, and no one else has questioned whether what we've served has been legit."

Hannibal considers this. "I could prepare legitimate sausage and meat for him," he suggests. "Just in case."

Will shakes his head and sighs. "It's too late for that now," he says, and he is right – it's past five in the afternoon, and Hannibal is loathe to have any of them leave the house even for something as simple as a grocery run.

Will meets his eyes and takes another drink. He tilts his head. "What part of the Alpha will you serve us, when he's caught?" he asks.

Hannibal smiles, and washes his hands, before he turns the oven on and lets it preheat. "Definitely his heart," he replies. Will nods, looking pleased. "Truthfully I'm torn. He doesn't deserve the honor of sitting at our table, and yet I also want to devour him in his entirety."

"Waste not, want not," Alana says with a grin. Will laughs, and smiles at her. "It if were possible in a meal, I'd vote to wipe his existence off the face of the earth."

Hannibal cannot help agreeing.

Will clears his throat after a moment, drumming his knuckles on the counter, and he looks between them. He hesitates, then; "Do you know what'll happen to the baby?" he asks. "I mean, after they're caught? The girl, if she goes to jail, won't take care of it. And I doubt any next of kin will come claim him, and Gregory -." He pauses, swallowing. "I don't know if Gregory had any family to speak of."

Hannibal tilts his head, sensing where Will is going with this. But he doesn't voice it – he has learned, now, or at least is trying to not let himself jump to conclusions, especially when it comes to what Will is thinking in regards to his trauma and abuse, and anything related to it. He has already been given evidence that he has vastly misjudged the situation from the beginning.

"I imagine he'll go into the system," Alana says gently, slowly. She is probably assuming the same track for Will's thoughts.

Will nods, his eyes dropping to his wine. He takes another sip and his hand shakes. He clears his throat. "I wonder if Charlie and Rosanna will want to claim him."

Hannibal presses his lips together. "I'm sure they will not be deemed suitable," he says. "Charlie has no Alpha, his marriage is not recognized within the law. And given that he shared in such trauma as Gregory did…"

Will frowns, and sucks in a harsh, annoyed breath through his teeth. "That's not fair," he mutters. "The child shouldn't suffer the sins of his father."

"I agree," Hannibal replies smoothly. "But unless Gregory or this Alpha has any family, I don't think there's much choice in the matter."

Will nods, and the motion is sharp. "I want to watch him," he says. "Wherever he ends up, I want to…. I want to make sure he's taken care of. I owe Gregory that much."

It is certainly not what Hannibal expected Will to say, and he can see Alana's surprise mirrored when she blinks, and swallows. She sets her glass of beer down and reaches out, flattening her hand over Will's free one. "I'm sure we can do that," she says gently, smiling. Will meets her eyes, and they are dark.

Hannibal turns as the oven beeps, and he sets the kidneys in a baking dish, covers them with aluminum foil, and places them inside, setting a timer. "Alana, would you mind topping and slicing the strawberries?"

"Of course," she says, and stands, letting Will go. She takes out the strawberries from the fridge and Will's head tilts, and he stands, following her. He pulls out one of the cartons of blackberries, and his expression melts into a soft, surprised smile.

He meets Hannibal's eyes, and sets them back in the fridge, letting the door close. Hannibal smiles at him, purring softly when Will approaches and touches his chest gently, and Hannibal cannot resist cupping his neck and stealing a chaste kiss from his sweet mouth. Will hums into it, arching close, and when he pulls back his eyes are burning and gold and Hannibal doesn't think there is a word to properly encompass how happy he is to see Will smile like that.

"Would you like to help as well, darling?" Hannibal asks.

Will shivers, and nods, biting his lower lip. He spreads his hands out and looks to the sausages on the counter.

"Where do you want me?"

Hannibal's fingers curl, and he swallows. "I've set the kidneys to a slow bake," he says. "I need to start on the risotto. Do you remember how to make it?"

Will's brow creases, and he nods. "I think so."

Hannibal smiles, and guides him with a hand to his neck to the corner cabinets, where the appropriate pots and pans are. He lets Will go, noticing how Will shivers and there's a delicate flush on his cheeks when he does it.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his shoulder. "Let me know if you need help, darling," he murmurs, and Will nods, retrieving a pot from the cabinet and filling it with rice. Hannibal turns from him and gathers the red onions, chopping and dicing them into small pieces for the salad beside Alana as Will begins the task of preparing the rice.

For a while, there is simply the three of them, working in silence and such comfortable tandem that it's like nothing changed. Will remembers to add the stock slowly, stirring the rice as it reaches a boil. They exchange smiles, and brushes of hands on shoulders to keep one still while the other moves behind them. Alana is eager to press her cheek to Will's shoulder, her hand to Hannibal's back, and Will might gently nudge his nose against her wet hair, or Hannibal's arm as they work. Hannibal is purring, supremely delighted at sharing this with his mates. Before, Alana would help him cook sometimes, but Will took pleasure in the dissection and harvesting of the meat itself, and liked watching his mates prepare it.

"Ah, shit," Will says after a while, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "I forgot to add the wine."

Hannibal smiles. "It's quite alright, you can add it now," he replies, rubbing his hand over Will's shoulder. "The vermouth is in the cellar."

Will smiles at him, and nods, leaving the little corner and going to the latch that leads to the basement. He'd called it a murder dungeon once, when he first discovered it. Hannibal smiles at the memory, watching Will lift the hatch and go downstairs.

He returns after a moment with the vermouth, closing the hatch, and pours it into the rice, continuing to stir. The scent of warmed meat and the rice is filling the kitchen now, as Hannibal finishes with the onions and sets them in a metal bowl with the spinach.

The doorbell rings at just past six thirty, and Will's head snaps up. His upper lip curls, instinctively defensive and aggressive at the idea of another person entering his home. Hannibal washes his hands and brushes his fingers along Will's neck, watching him shiver and sigh, instinctively placated.

"If traffic was kind to them, they may be early," he suggests. Will nods, huffing, and works his jaw to one side. Everything is ready, if it's Charlie and Rosanna. He nods to Alana. "I'll go answer. Relax."

She smiles at him, and Hannibal goes to the door. He recognizes Charlie immediately, smiling at the sight of the Omega as he looks up and grins in recognition. At his side, wrapped up so warmly only a sliver of face is visible, is a petite Hispanic woman. She has a thick mane of wavy black hair, brown eyes, and a scarf around her neck, covering her mouth. She pulls it down when Hannibal answers.

"You must be Doctor Lecter," she says, and holds out a gloved hand. "Rosanna."

"A pleasure," Hannibal says. "And please, Hannibal will do just fine. Come in."

"Sorry we're early," Charlie says. He shrugs off his coat and hands it over, then his wife's. He is easily a foot taller than her when his wild, dark hair is taken into account, and without her thick coat Hannibal sees she is a fine-looking woman, with dark skin and a slender build. "We had no idea how long it would take to get here. Google said an hour, Apple maps said twenty minutes…" He shakes his head and shrugs.

"It's no trouble," Hannibal says with a smile, and gestures for them to enter. "The dining room is straight ahead of you. Please, make yourselves comfortable. Can I offer you something to drink? I have wine, and beer."

"Oh, wine please!" Rosanna says, rubbing her hands together briskly. She smiles, all teeth. "White, if you have it."

"Of course," Hannibal says.

"Water is fine for me, please," Charlie murmurs, and they enter the dining room. Will and Alana are there, setting the plates, and Will freezes when his eyes lock with Charlie's.

" _Will_ ," Charlie whispers, his expression exploding into one of pure joy – joy and relief, that Hannibal sees mirrored in Will. He sets the knife and fork down he'd been laying and rushes around the table, and Charlie meets him, both Omegas throwing themselves into a tight embrace, nose to each other's necks, scenting each other to assure themselves that they're both alright.

The sweet scent of relieved Omega fills the room quickly, and Will shivers and pulls back, holding Charlie at arm's length. He looks him over and Hannibal is again struck by just how physically similar they are – same dark, wild hair, same eyes, same general build though Will is taller and has more muscle than Charlie does.

Charlie smiles, and cups Will's face. "I'm so glad to see you alright," he whispers. Will smiles, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, and he swallows harshly and mimics Charlie, touching his face with reverent hands.

"You too," he murmurs, and his eyes turn to Rosanna. He smiles at her, wide and welcoming. "You must be Rosanna. I've heard so much about you."

"You too," Rosanna replies, smiling and shaking Will's hand. Hannibal is glad Will doesn't pull her into a hug – she is wearing heavy perfume, not unpleasant but cloying, and Hannibal isn’t sure he'd be able to resist scent-marking Will if she got her scent on him. "I want to…to thank you." Her voice goes soft, her inhale unsteady. "For taking care of him. I don't know what I'd do if I lost him. I owe you everything."

Will swallows, a small tightening around his eyes betraying his guilt to that. He pulls his hand away and rubs it absently on his slacks. "I only did what anyone would do," he says flatly – not cold, but dismissive. His shoulders roll and he shakes his head.

"We don't have to talk about that," Charlie says in a soothing tone. He offers a reassuring smile, and then his eyes move to Alana. He smiles at her and accepts when she gestures for him to have a seat. They have arranged the table settings so that Charlie and Rosanna will sit together, on the left side of the table, Hannibal at the head, and Will and Alana on the left. Will's and Alana's drinks are already set out, and as they take their seats, Hannibal goes to the kitchen to pour wine and water per request.

He returns and hands the drinks over with a smile. Will is seated, but Alana stands behind her chair as she will help bring the plates in. "So, how long have you two been married?" she asks, nodding to the wedding rings on their hands.

Rosanna smiles, and looks at Charlie. Hannibal sees love there – deep, joyous love, and thinks it would be easy to feel like everything was alright, with someone looking at you like that. "Almost seven years now," Charlie says, and takes her hand, rubbing his finger over her knuckles. Their hands fold together. "We met in college and I fell in love instantly."

Rosanna blushes, and rolls her eyes. "No you didn't," she says, playfully chiding.

"Yes I did," Charlie replies. It's clear that they've had this argument many times before.

Hannibal's head tilts.

"What about you guys?" Rosanna asks, pulling her eyes away from her husband and looking to Alana, then Hannibal, and finally Will.

Alana smiles. "Hannibal and I got married a year before we met Will," she says. "We dated for a while, but we've been married for about seven years, too."

Will hums, and Alana squeezes his shoulder gently.

"Forgive me for asking," Hannibal says quietly, and nods to their wedding rings, "I was under the impression that state law did not legally recognize your marriage."

"Oh, they don't," Charlie says, with a roll of his eyes and a dismissive wave of his free hand. "But we met an advocate who got ordained online and she was willing to perform the ceremony, at least. We never signed a marriage license, but we had a wedding."

"I'm sure it was beautiful," Alana says.

"It was," Charlie murmurs. He looks at Rosanna, smiles, and kisses her knuckles tenderly. "Happiest day of my life."

Rosanna blushes.

Hannibal straightens up and gestures for Alana to come with him. She nods, and follows him into the kitchen, but pauses at the counter where the dishes are laid out. She tilts her head and folds her arms across her chest.

"Alright," she says coolly. "Spill."

Hannibal lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Could be coincidence," he says.

She huffs, aggravated. "Hannibal."

Hannibal sighs, and turns, regarding her. "I apologize, my love, but I would rather confirm my theory before I present it to you, or Will," he says gently. "I don't want to create any emotional upheaval without due cause."

Her eyes narrow, and she sighs, puffing her breath upward to blow a stray piece of hair from her face. "Fine," she says, and rolls her shoulders, letting her hands drop. She comes forward and takes the tray of risotto and the salad, while Hannibal carries the kidneys in their baking tray and a smaller dish of the sliced sausages, seasoned with onions and chili.

They bring them out and set them down in a line down the middle of the table with their respective serving utensils. Charlie swallows harshly, his fingers flexing.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," he says, and shakes his head. "I should have told Will – I, ah, I haven't really been able to stomach the thought of eating meat since…"

Will looks at Charlie, his eyes dark with understanding.

Hannibal smiles. "It's quite alright Charlie," he says, letting his voice go soothing and low. He can smell the sharp spike of Charlie's distress and, though it's instinctive to want to reach out and soothe him, he resists. "The rice and salad are safe, and if you're still hungry I have plenty of other things to offer."

Charlie sighs, his shoulders going lax, and he offers a weak smile. "Thank you."

"Of course," Will says. "I'm sorry, I didn't think to ask."

"It's fine," Charlie says with another smile. "And I don't mind it, you know, being here. I just can't…"

"You don't have to explain yourself," Alana says. She picks up his plate and piles on a hearty serving of the risotto, as well as the salad. "Rosanna, would you like any?"

"Please," Rosanna says, offering her plate. While Alana serves her, Hannibal serves Alana, Will, and finally himself. They settle down and Hannibal takes the first bite, as is custom, and the rest eat. The salad is covered with a strawberry balsamic glaze, rich with onions and feta, and the risotto is very good – Hannibal makes sure to brush his knee against Will's and gives a pleased-sounding purr when he tastes it.

Will flushes, and smiles, and nudges back.

Charlie eats ravenously, as does Will, and Hannibal is pleased to see both Omegas eating so much. Charlie is woefully skinny, and Will is a long way from recovering his strength and former size, and he would gladly feed both of them to bursting.

After a while, Charlie clears his throat and takes a drink of water. "I know we said we didn't have to talk about it," he says slowly. "But I…. Have they made any headway with the investigation?"

Will sighs, and shakes his head. "Hannibal and I are working on getting sketches to Agent Crawford," he says with a one-shouldered shrug. "I think once those go out it'll be easier – Hannibal is a talented artist and I got good looks at them. I'd be able to identify them in a lineup."

At that, he spears a piece of sausage onto his fork, eats it and swallows without chewing in a brief show of viciousness.

Charlie nods, wide-eyed. Then he sighs. "As long as they didn't flee the country," he says slowly, absently stirring his rice with the tines of his fork. "They could be anywhere, by now."

Hannibal hums. "Offenders like this tend to have a very precise area of control," he says around a sip of wine. "They move where they are comfortable, within it. And even newborns require passports – so, if they thought that far ahead, it would make it easier to track them, though it would have to be forged without a proper birth certificate or social security number. If not, they would be unable to leave the country."

Charlie blinks at him, and then he nods.

Hannibal tilts his head. "Would you like to see the sketches?" he asks.

Will frowns at him. "Charlie didn't see them," he argues.

"Yeah. I mean, no, I didn't see them, but…" Charlie shivers, and nods, pressing his lips together. "I'd like to be able to put a face to the man who…"

He doesn't finish.

Alana is regarding Hannibal with a considering expression. Hannibal nods, and sips his wine. "After dinner, we can retire to the study if you'd like, and I will show you," he says kindly. Charlie shivers and nods. "I agree that it would be therapeutic, to put a face to the monster. Make him mortal."

"Hannibal," Will growls in warning.

"No, I want to look," Charlie says, reaching out to touch Will's hand. He smiles at Hannibal, and withdraws. "Thank you."

 

 

While they are clearing places, Hannibal refills Rosanna's wine glass and Charlie finally succumbs and accepts an offer of sweet port as a nightcap. Hannibal gives him, Will, and Alana a glass, and retreats to the kitchen, pulling out his tablet from where it is resting on the counter.

He pulls up a search and looks up the name of the woman who, when it came time to officially mate with Will, had amended his and Alana's marriage certificate to include him. It is a simple thing to pull up her name, and Hannibal presses his lips together, head tilted as he takes in her short, dirty blonde hair, her bright blue eyes.

She had been a marriage counselor, contract liaison, and a staunch advocate for Alpha-less marriage legalization. The first link is an article saying that she has been missing for the last five years, and is presumed dead.

Interesting.

He carries the tablet into the study and sets it down on the armrest, before he retrieves his sketchbook. Will is by the fire, standing, Charlie and Rosanna on the couch where he had sat and given his descriptions. Alana is on the opposite couch, her eyes narrowed in anticipatory accusation, like she suspects exactly what will be said here, and is braced against it.

"Charlie," he says, holding up the book and keeping it closed. He drums his fingers against the spine and waits until the Omega's eyes lift to his. "Do you recall the name of the friend who married you?"

"Oh." Charlie's brow furrows, and he looks to Rosanna. "Louise."

The name of the woman in the article.

"Did you ever meet her family?" Hannibal asks.

"Hannibal," Will growls.

Charlie shakes his head. "No. I knew she had an Alpha and a daughter but -." He shrugs.

"I met the daughter," Rosanna says. "Once."

So she would recognize her.

"Did you know Louise was reported missing and is presumed dead, shortly before Will was taken?"

Rosanna's eyes widen in tandem with Charlie's, and then her eyes drop to the book. Hannibal opens it to the most recent sketches and hands it to her.

She takes it, setting her wine down, and flattens it to her lap. Hannibal takes the tablet and opens it, scrolling down to a picture of the woman – Louise Hobbs – and her husband and daughter. Charlie takes it from him, his eyes darting between the family picture and the sketches, and he lets out a soft, very soft, shaken gasp.

"Oh my God, it's…" He touches the girl's face, the daughter's face. Abigail Hobbs.

Will pushes himself from the fireplace and takes the tablet from Charlie's limp hands. He blinks, and his fingers clench around it hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He lets out a low, viscerally outraged snarl, and lifts his eyes to Hannibal's.

"This is them," he says. He looks to Charlie. "This is how he found us. Through the fucking _marriage_."

Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and Abigail Hobbs. A father and daughter – it would make sense, then, why the Alpha never mounted her, and why he reacted so violently to the thought that Will would. Hannibal cannot help but think that she does bear a striking resemblance to Alana, Will, and Charlie, with her glacially bright eyes, dark hair, and off-kilter smile.

Charlie's hands are shaking and he swallows, rubbing at his neck. He lets out a low whine. "Missus Hobbs was the one who updated our marriage license to include Will, when he joined us," Hannibal says. Rosanna looks up, and there are tears in her eyes. "Chances are good that Gregory and David met her through similar circumstances."

Alana stands, and pulls the tablet from Will's clenching, shaking hands. His fingers form fists when he lets it go and she looks at the picture, then at Hannibal, then back at Will. "This is them?" she asks, and her voice is cold, her entire demeanor is black with rage.

"That's them," Will says darkly. He runs both hands through his hair, over his face, and shudders.

"We have to tell Jack immediately," Alana says.

Hannibal presses his lips together.

Charlie stands, and Rosanna follows suit immediately, setting the sketchbook down with utmost care. "I'm sorry, I…" Charlie is shaking, every part of him trembling, his eyes flashing gold and his scent thick with distress. "Um. I -." He laughs, and rubs a hand over his mouth. "I didn't expect to react that strongly to his face."

His fingers brush, feather-light, over the back of his neck, and he winces.

"Hey." Will comes forward and cups Charlie's face, pressing their foreheads together. "We're gonna catch him," he growls, heavy with finality. He is wrath, he is rage, all the righteous anger of an avenging angel in his eyes and yet his hands are gentle on Charlie's face. "I swear. We're gonna hunt the sonuvabitch down and tear him to shreds."

Hannibal smiles.

Rosanna takes Charlie's hand, tugging him close. "I think we could all use some time to process this," she says kindly, and smiles at Hannibal. "Thank you for a lovely meal – it was delicious."

"You are both always welcome here," Hannibal replies, and leads them to the door. He gives them their coats and holds the door open for them as they bundle up, and now their attire looks like a shield and not just from the cold. "Please let us know when you get back to the hotel safely."

Charlie nods, and manages a weak smile. "Thank you, Hannibal," he says, and then they leave, and Hannibal closes and locks the door behind them.

He returns to the study to find Alana glaring at her shoes. She lifts her eyes when he enters. "We have to tell Jack."

Will snarls before Hannibal can reply, and whirls on her. "No," he says, again final, again firm. "Jack's not taking this kill away from me."

"I'm inclined to agree," Hannibal says mildly. Will looks to him, his lips twitching like he wants to smile but cannot stop snarling long enough to do so. "We can certainly tell Jack our suspicions, but perhaps it is better if this Garrett Jacob Hobbs were…never found."

Alana frowns. "I want to hurt him as much as you both do, but Charlie knows now. He might go to Jack himself. If Jack finds out we're under the rule of the law."

"Let the law be taken out on the daughter, then," Hannibal says, and looks to Will. "If Will does not want me to hurt her, then she can go to prison and receive her punishment there. But the Alpha…" He sighs, and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Alana, I simply cannot abide the notion that he is out there, and that if Jack catches him, he will continue to draw breath."

"Yes," Will says with a short nod. "I want him dead. I want the bastard's fucking heart."

Alana considers them, and then nods, taking a drink of port. "We must move quickly, then," she says.

Will nods.

Hannibal looks to him. "Did Abigail ever mention anything about where they might go?"

Will winces, and shakes his head.

Alana hums. "Perhaps we can find out," she says slowly. "We can…go back to that place. Where they held you. There must have been another location – a house, or a cabin, that would give clues to their lifestyle and where they might go." Will swallows, his shoulders rolling. "It's a good place to start."

Will sighs, and rubs a hand over his mouth. Hannibal knows he doesn't want to go back to that place – in truth Hannibal could happily live the rest of his life without setting foot on that condemned ground – but it's all they have for a potential lead, and Alana is right: time is now against them. It is always against them, it seems.

Finally, Will nods, undoubtedly coming to the same conclusion. "You're right," he murmurs, heavy with resignation. His shoulders sag and Hannibal goes to him, wrapping his arms around Will and Will shivers, turning into him, his nose at Hannibal's neck and embracing him back just as tightly. Alana sets her port glass down and joins them and they embrace her, tucking her under Will's arm and her cheek on Will's shoulder.

She sighs, and Will's arm tightens around her, his fingers dug into Hannibal's jacket. It is unity, and Hannibal closes his eyes, and kisses Will's hair. They have been reunited for a while, but in this they are rejoined, and though he is sure the next few days will be fraught with emotional difficultly and strain, he is confident, now, in a way he could not allow himself to be before, that they will all make it through the other side.

Will shivers, and pulls back from them. He bites his lower lip and swallows, looking to the tablet.

Then, he wraps a hand in Alana's hair and pulls her into a chaste kiss. When they part, he meets Hannibal's eyes.

"Can we sleep in my nest tonight?" he whispers.

Hannibal smiles, and nods, and answers Will when he tilts his chin up, kissing the meat and the wine and the sweet port from his lips. "Of course, darling. Whatever you desire."

Will smiles, and takes one of their hands in each of his own, and leads the way upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of people already concluded it was the Hobbses but now you have official confirmation! :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams fist on the table* I'm gonna have them all have a happy moment before I fuck with them, damn it.  
> This chapter is just smut and emotional shit. Next chapter we go to the Hobbs cabin so, enjoy it while it lasts :D

The fact of the matter is that Hannibal had resigned himself to never being in an Omega's nest again. After he and Alana had taken apart Will's, they had not wept, but Alana had been silent for days, only speaking when spoken to, and even then, only about classes and things in the news. Will is a passionate person, and as such incites passion in others, and Hannibal had seen that flame in her grow small and fragile.

It did not die, for fire like that will never die, but he had desperately held it in his hands, careful of breathing too harshly, of holding it too tight and denying it oxygen. Hannibal is patient, and kind when he needs to be, especially to his beloved wife, and the first time she smiled after Will's disappearance had almost moved him to tears.

Now, it feels as though he is the tiny, fragile flame. Or, perhaps, more accurately, a man perched on the very precipice of a cliff, desperately reaching for a fire that dangles above the abyss, and his fingertips can _just_ brush it, but if he lunges too fiercely or tries to grab too hard, he will lose his treasure, or plummet to his death.

He goes to the bedroom, first, after checking and double checking that all the windows and doors are locked. It is just as much for his peace of mind as Alana's, or Will's – there are dangerous people out there, but none as dangerous as the three of them together. Still, it is a natural instinct for Alphas to secure their home before retiring to bed.

He changes into soft pajama pants and a t-shirt, and then goes to Will's nest. At the threshold, he hesitates, because the door is open but only Alana is inside, and then the guest bathroom door opens behind him, and he turns and sees Will smiling, absently brushing his damp hands on his slacks.

"You gonna just stand there all night?" he asks, teasing, and brushes past Hannibal, hand on his shoulder pulling him in, and Hannibal smiles, shakes his head, and follows. Alana kisses Will on the cheek, then Hannibal, before she leaves the room to change as well.

Hannibal watches her go, and then his eyes gravitate to Will. Will has kept his blue t-shirt on, but is sitting on the edge of the nest, pulling off his shoes and socks, and then working his slacks down his hips. He's so skinny, Hannibal notes, that the clothing comes off easily without a belt to hold it up. He watches, and cannot deny the stir of interest in his stomach as he sees Will's bare thighs come into view, pale and thinner than he remembers. His knees – bruised, probably from kneeling on Chilton's floor – and the rest of his legs covered in a fine layer of dark hair. Omegas are all blessed with a certain natural beauty, it is true, but none of them compare to Will.

Will bunches his slacks up and then tosses them into one corner of the nest, and the gesture is so cavalier, so inherently domestic and _Will_ , that Hannibal cannot help smiling.

Will's eyes lift, that lovely blue meshed with gold, and he smiles, the gesture affectionate and longing like he's staring up at the night sky and wishing he could touch the stars. He reaches, like a man on a cliff, his palm turned up, fingers curling.

He says nothing, but Hannibal doesn't need him to say anything.

He takes Will's hand and lets Will pull him into the nest, over the small lip that forms a natural entrance, and into the bowl of it. It's large enough to fit all three of them, he notes, though it will be a tight fit, all of them intertwined atop each other like puppies against the cold. The thought of being so intimately surrounded by his wife and mate, of being able to feel and smell each of them, fills Hannibal with no end of pleasure, and he can't help purring, loudly, as Will sighs and settles beneath his weight.

Hannibal is pressed to one side of the nest, Will in his arms and turned into him, leaving room for Alana when she returns.  Will's warmth, his smile, his heartbeat, his scent – Hannibal wants to drown in all of it. He cups Will's face, tilts his head up, and shivers when Will clings to him, gentle but eager, and meets him for a kiss.

It is slow – not tentative, but comes like the roll of a tidal wave. In a rush, down Hannibal's spine, until every muscle in him tenses like he's been jolted with electricity. He slides a thigh between Will's and earns a soft moan in answer, Will's hand sliding down his flank, fisting in his shirt and tugging. Will's teeth sink into his lower lip and Hannibal growls, pushing his fingers through Will's soft hair, rolling him onto his back so that Hannibal can cover him properly, soothe and secure him beneath his weight and remind Will what it's like to lie beneath an Alpha that loves him.

Will's touch is warm, his shoulders and arms finely tensed to bear Hannibal's weight, chin tilted up and throat bared as Hannibal kisses him. His thighs spread, making just enough room for Hannibal to push his knee between and Will gasps, swallowing harshly, and parts for air.

His eyes are dark, now, a single slip of gold just visible around the pupil, his cheeks a beautiful pink that contrasts with the sweet redness of his mouth and the flush spreading down his neck. Hannibal's teeth itch to bury themselves in that sweetness, to open Will's neck and drink of him and recement their bond once again.

The door creaks as it opens, and Hannibal sits up, turning to see Alana approaching them in a long black robe, which she parts and lets fall to reveal an oversized sleep shirt, off-white like she'd accidentally washed it with something black years ago, and the black outline of her underwear is just visible beneath it. She shivers in the cold and Hannibal pushes back with a welcoming smile, allowing her room to warm herself between them.

She grins at them and reaches for the light, and Will surges upright when the room goes dark.

He whines, and though she isn't bred to hear it, Hannibal is.

"It's alright," he whispers, cupping Will's neck, which has suddenly gone cool and clammy. He is shaking, the hand still in Hannibal's shirt fisted tightly. Hannibal lets his purr go softer, soothing, and nuzzles Will's hair. "It's alright, darling. We're here."

He hadn't seemed to mind the dark the night before, but Hannibal's bedroom is much better illuminated than this one is, and Will had been able to see their shadows, and the door. He cannot see either, right now.

His pulse is rushing beneath Hannibal's hand and Hannibal is just about to suggest they turn the light back on, and then Alana is there, her scent soft, like warm honey and spring rain, and Hannibal reaches out to her, touches her bared thigh and guides her to sit beside Will and cover his knee with her leg, lets Will grab at her soft skin and turn his head to bury his nose in her neck.

He is trembling, his scent turned sharp with distress, and so Hannibal pulls back as much as he is able, since Will clearly still finds greater comfort in the less threatening scent and shape of a woman than an Alpha. He tries not to mind, tries to let reason and understanding take the forefront, and swallows heavily when he hears the wet sound of their lips meeting, of Alana's soft sigh and Will's sweet moan.

They part, and Alana says, "Do you want the light back on?"

Close as he is, Hannibal can hear the rush of the blankets and clothing beneath them as Will shakes his head. He shifts his weight, then, and Hannibal sucks in a breath when Will's back and hips press up and slot against his chest – a perfect fit, just like he has always been. Will is, Hannibal found out quickly during their courtship, the ideal height for him. He's a little bit shorter, just enough that Hannibal's mouth naturally touches the inward curve of his skull when they embrace like this, at the nape of his neck, and just so that the soft meat of Hannibal's thighs can follow the warm touch of Will's when he curls up. Hannibal brushes his hand across Will's hip, testing, and finds Alana's hand there too. Their fingers lace.

Hannibal sighs when Will reaches back, cupping his face and turning, and their noses brush, and Will tilts, lifts himself up in offering as Hannibal's hand moves from Alana's, up his stomach and settling under his shirt, the smooth warmth of his heart beating strongly under Hannibal's hand. No longer panicked, but fast nonetheless.

Will ends their kiss with a sharp gasp, flinching into Hannibal's embrace and, as tightly-pressed as they are, Hannibal can feel as Alana tugs on Will's underwear, pulling the clothing down to his knees and Hannibal can smell him, smell both of them, sitting on the roof of his mouth as he breathes in deeply and presses his face into Will's hair.

His eyes are adjusting to the darkness, able to pick up the subtly lighter shade of Alana's shadow, the darkness of the rim of Will's nest. Alana sits up, hair falling in a black curtain, and then rolls to her other side so her back is to Will, and Will growls, lunging for her, only held back by Hannibal's arm around his waist.

Hannibal smiles, leans down and kisses beneath Will's ear. Will's chest vibrates with an aggressive rumble, and Hannibal slides his hand down, breathes deep when he wraps a hand around Will's cock and Will arches, gasping, grinding forward into Hannibal's touch and then back, against Hannibal's own hardening cock. Hannibal's knuckles brush between Alana's thighs, find her wet and warm.

"Do you want her, darling?" he growls, and Will nods, his hair tickling Hannibal's cheek and jaw. He reaches for her, pulls Alana into his arms so that Hannibal can touch her, too, and he does – he slides his hand between her legs, fingers sure and knowing, and hears her soft moan. She tilts her head back and Hannibal is treated to an explosion of her scent, and rears up, leaning over Will to kiss, briefly, at her hair.

" _Hannibal_ ," Will says, hand returning to Hannibal's cheek. There is a sound, something low and slick, and Alana gasps and Will moans, loudly, curling around her and holding her tightly as he penetrates her, sinking deep in a series of juddering thrusts. " _Fuck_ , Alana -. _God_."

Hannibal smiles, closing his eyes and burying his face in Will's neck. He can feel the pressure of him inside her, pushes his fingers down further to brush where she parts for him and Will shudders, snarling, his hips rolling in smooth motions to build up a rhythm. Will was always a sensitive, vocal lover, and Hannibal is glad to see their time apart hasn't changed that. He is the kind of man that can tremble under a simple touch, that goes weak with pleasure and the need to simply see his partner satisfied.

Alana knows this, and she sighs, taking Will's hand from her flank and bringing it up to tease at her breasts, under her shirt. The scent of them both is heavy, now, flowers and mint and Hannibal is greedy with it, and wishes it were a physical thing that could fill his lungs and stomach, and nourish him like food and air.

He parts his jaws and bites down, gently, on the back of Will's neck, and feels him tremble in answer. Then, just as he knew it would – there it is. Will's slick, that sweet, fevered heat of him. Hannibal's nostrils flare and he growls, smelling it, closing his eyes as Will grinds back against him, then forward, into her.

Alana's thighs tense, coming together as Hannibal starts to circle her clit in earnest, her breaths going heavy and high. "You're going to make her come, Will," Hannibal says, purrs the words into Will's ear and hears him whimper. She is unbearably wet, it stains Hannibal's hand and slicks his fingers as he touches her, and she shudders, gasping, her hips jerking in little encouraging motions.

" _Please_ ," Will gasps, his voice muffled by her hair. She groans, slamming her hands against the border of the nest with a dull thud, and her thighs tighten and lift, curling up abruptly as they work her to orgasm. Will slips out of her but Hannibal's hold is secure and he forces her to remain where she is, ruts his fingers down and into her to feel her spasming around them.

Alana moans, trembling, and goes abruptly lax and Hannibal smiles, pulling his wet fingers back. He licks them clean.

Will turns, savage and snarling as he can be with Hannibal, and lunges for him, forcing Hannibal to share the taste of Alana between them. Hannibal smiles, pushes him onto his back and covers him. Will used to like a hand at his throat and his fingers twitch in muscle memory, to put a hand on him and keep him down, but in the dark he's not sure it's a good idea.

So, instead, he kisses Will again and says, "Your turn, darling."

Will paws at him, impatient, and lets out a confused sound when Hannibal merely pulls away, sliding his hands to Will's hips, and kneels between his legs. He leans down and kisses Will's clothed stomach, and the scent of his mates is maddeningly strong, Will's cock soaked with Alana and, between his legs, Will's slick leaking, without the barrier of underwear to soften it.

Hannibal is sure Will hasn't felt pleasure like this from an Alpha in a long time, and he's determined to replace every bad memory with a good one, until Will is no longer afraid of the dark and until the little candle light flares and shines brightly in all of them once again.

Will seems to understand, after a moment, and Hannibal sighs, purring, when a gentle hand pushes through his hair and curls. "Please," Will says, soft, low, and Hannibal smiles, and ducks his head down further. He parts his jaws, lets his tongue lap gently at the head of Will's cock, tasting Alana, tasting precum, and then he tilts his head and swallows Will's cockhead into his mouth, sinking down rapidly as Will gasps and bucks his hips.

" _Fuck_ ," Will growls, hand tightening in Hannibal's hair. He does not seek to control, does not force Hannibal down before he's ready, but his stomach is tense and his thighs are trembling, and the smell and taste of him is so _strong_ , the salt of Alana and then, beneath it, Will's flesh, slides over his tongue and only makes him hungrier.

Alana's hand brushes Hannibal's shoulders, then slides down beside his neck, between Will's thighs. Hannibal huffs, pleased, and keeps Will down as Alana slicks her fingers with him, and then takes what Hannibal doesn't have in his mouth, in her hand, so when Hannibal sinks down again, he can taste every piece of Will his mate can offer.

It incites him and excites him, his nostrils flaring for deep, greedy breaths of Will as Will writhes, panting, beneath his hands. Hannibal can smell his blood, close to the surface in a fine flush, feel the rush of his heart beneath his fingers and feel the subtle pulse of arousal in his lips whenever he licks through the slit of Will's cock.

Will whimpers, tugging on his hair. "Hannibal, _please_ ," he says. "Mount me. _Please_."

Hannibal sighs, pulling back, wrapping his fingers around Will's cock and stroking, tight and slow. He shakes his head – he is, still, convinced that mounting Will when he's fertile is a monumentally bad idea. The conversation regarding Gregory's child has only further cemented that belief. Will is clearly feeling maternal, rabid with the need to care for something, perhaps to make up for his internal belief that he failed the other Omegas in caring for them – but that personal fault, and his perception of it, will not be solved with an unplanned and sudden pregnancy.

Hannibal believes this. He cannot afford to budge on the matter.

He leans over Will, braces himself on the edge of the nest and tilts his head, leans down and kisses his mate as passionately as he can. Will moans, arching in brazen invitation, cock twitching and leaking finely onto Hannibal's palm, over his wrist.

"No, darling," Hannibal says when Will allows him air. Will snarls, a sharp and angry thing, and Hannibal smiles, for he knows, even now, how to placate Will and how to get him purring.

He bows his head, touches his teeth to Will's ear, and says, "I will mount you over the body of the man who took you." Will gasps, shuddering, clawing frantically at Hannibal's shoulders. But he cannot deny the clench of his stomach, the way he moans when Alana joins her fingers with Hannibal's, her touch grazing his cock before sinking between his legs again, sinking deep just as he likes. "I'll see every hunger of yours sated, and fill you however you want to be filled, once we've all seen him breathe his last."

Will snarls, the sound turning to a whimper as his hips buck up, as Alana fucks him with her fingers and Hannibal smells her, tilts his head and nuzzles her hair as she kisses Will's bared neck. Hannibal tightens his hand, twists it, and Will's scent gets sharp.

"I want his fucking heart," he demands, just as he demanded before.

Hannibal smiles. "You can eat it raw."

At that promise, Will surges up abruptly, wrapping both hands behind Hannibal's neck and yanking him down for a kiss. His hips roll, thighs spasming around Hannibal, and he comes with a loud moan, spilling hot and wet over Hannibal's hand and his bared stomach. Will shakes, trembling from neck to knee, and Hannibal releases him with a satisfied purr, cupping Will's neck with his dirty hand and smearing his seed there for Alana to taste.

Will shudders, sighing heavily, and licks into Hannibal's mouth, a deeply satisfied purr splitting the silence. His hands slide down and his knees lift as Alana pulls out of him, and Will rolls, until Hannibal is on his back and Will is straddling his thighs.

Hannibal gives a growl of warning, but Will just laughs, and leans over, nuzzling Alana's neck and then he pulls her in front of him, so she's kneeling over Hannibal, her back to Will's chest and the angle of the light illuminates their faces, shows Will's golden-glowing eyes, her own glacial and so pale they look almost white. Their dark hair, their flushed cheeks – his mates are beautiful, and devastatingly so when they're together.

Will smiles at him over Alana's shoulder, kisses her neck and slides his hands down, large and wide, until he dips beneath her underwear and pushes it to one side, baring where she's still slick and puffy from their use.

"Do you want her?" he whispers, his eyes on Hannibal, his voice teasing as he mimics Hannibal's words. Hannibal swallows, and nods, lashes fluttering as Will tugs at the opening in the front of his pajama pants, through the hole in his underwear, and pulls his cock out. His hands are dry and warm, and Will smiles, nudges Alana's neck until it is bared for both of them, and kisses over her pulse.

He bites, very lightly, and she shivers, whole body rolling and he slides his hand up high enough to bare her breasts, pushing her shirt out of the way. He tugs on Hannibal's cock, encouraging him to arch his hips, and Will presses forward with his own so Alana is lined up perfectly, manhandled and positioned just as Will wants, and Will guides Hannibal's cock inside her and she is _wet_ , and burning hot, and Hannibal snarls as she sinks down.

Alana's eyes flare open and she braces herself on Hannibal's chest, hips rolling in smooth yet urgent motions, grinding her clit against his pelvis, her head thrown back and teeth bared as Will teases at her nipples. Hannibal can feel her, clenching up around him, can feel Will behind her, urging her on, just as slick and hot as she is.

Alana comes first, collapsing with a weak moan as she bears down and gets unbearably tight around Hannibal. Her pleasure escapes her swollen lips in a series of high-pitched, needy sounds, her hair damp and flat with sweat now, her brow pinched. Hannibal can't hold back anymore – he takes her by the hips and holds her still, thrusting up once, twice.

Will purrs, loudly, and hooks his chin over Alana's shoulder. Spears Hannibal with his sharp gaze. "Come for us, Hannibal," he says, and Hannibal has no choice but to obey, flooding Alana after one more, single thrust, with a low snarl.

Will is smiling, and kisses the back of Alana's shoulder when Hannibal is done, cupping her thighs and lifting her off of Hannibal's cock and Hannibal growls, suddenly exposed to the air in a way that makes him tense.

Will places her down, gently, and kisses her. "Beautiful," he whispers into her mouth, and she huffs a laugh, grinning wide and pleased. Then, Will settles on Hannibal again and corrects his clothes with gentle hands, before he pulls his own underwear back up around his hips.

He sighs, leaning down, and nuzzles Hannibal's pulse. Hannibal embraces him, unable to stop himself purring, and loudly, able to smell the rich, sweet scent of a satisfied Omega in the nest. It makes Will's presence seem thicker, somehow, more solid. Makes him more real, to smell him happy.

Alana makes an impatient sound and tugs on Will, forcing him to lay between them, all of them on their sides and tangled up together, and Will laughs, and reaches up above their heads to tug on a loose blanket, flinging it down over them. They perform the standard settlement routine, making sure feet are tucked and nothing will lose blood flow by being used as a pillow, and Hannibal ends up with his hand on Alana's hip, arm braced over Will, his other arm used as a cushion for Will's neck, Will's back to his chest as he's holding Alana but his and Hannibal's legs tangled together.

Will sighs again, heavily, and sounds half-asleep already. "I missed you guys."

Hannibal smiles, and kisses the back of his head. "We missed you too, Will."

Alana hums. "So much."

Will huffs, and kisses Alana's shoulder, and squeezes Hannibal's arm, briefly, before he settles and goes lax. "It's good to be home."


	13. Chapter 13

Hannibal is brought to wakefulness immediately at the sound of a soft, distressed moan. His nostrils flare, picking up the sharp scent of a panicked Omega. Will is at his side, trembling and drenched with sweat, his fingers flexing tightly in a pillow beneath his head, his legs shifting and sliding together like he's getting ready to bolt.

His reaction is immediate. It is not the first time Will has had nightmares, and the instinct, the ingrained knowledge of how to calm them rises up without a care for the thought that, in their current situation, it might not be the best course of action.

He has never been able to resist offering his mates comfort in times of stress.

He plasters himself to Will's back and wraps an arm around his chest, caging his biceps, his other hand flattening over Will's hip. "Alana," he whispers, and finds her awake, staring wide-eyed at him over Will's shoulder. "Pet his wrists like you used to."

She nods, gathering Will's tight fists. She lets out a soft hum, tracing gentle fingers over his knuckles, sliding one hand with assuredness between his forearms so she can pet over his racing pulse. Will shivers, bares his teeth and lets out a harsh whine.

Hannibal purrs, as loud and forcefully as he can, and parts his jaws to kiss, open-mouthed and warm, over the placation point at the back of Will's neck. He is sweet with sweat here, slick under Hannibal's tongue, as he licks over the tense muscle, and his free hand slides to Will's stomach, forcing their bodies closer so the pressure points at the small of his back are weighted by Hannibal.

Will shudders, snaps his jaws together harshly, but he is calming, soothed by the gentle touches of Hannibal and Alana as they pet him. Alana's humming has gained a tune, probably something from the radio, and she presses her leg over Will's, weighing him down, smothering him under both of them as Hannibal nuzzles and kisses his neck, pets gently over his stomach as Alana touches his wrists.

Will sucks in a breath, his lashes fluttering, then parting wide. He gasps, trembling again, and Alana smiles at him, pulling his fists to her chest as she wraps both hands around each of his wrists, thumbs smoothing down from the insides of his palm to over his pulse. Hannibal slides his hand under Will's shirt, gently easing over smooth flesh, up and over his heart, pleased and relieved when Will finally blinks back to awareness, and goes lax between them.

He clears his throat, sheepish and embarrassed, and Alana offers him a smile, leans in and kisses gently at his forehead. "Morning," she says.

Will coughs, rolling his shoulders. Hannibal releases his arms but doesn't stop petting him and nuzzling at his nape. He can feel Will's heart slowing beneath his kiss, feel the tremors in Will's body slowly fade as he returns to awareness.

"Morning," Will rasps. He pulls one hand free and wipes it over his face, pushing his hair back. Then, he smiles, shakily, his eyes very dark when he turns and Hannibal pulls back, just enough to see him. Will lifts his chin and Hannibal cups his jaw, giving him a chaste kiss in greeting. "Thank you," he whispers.

Hannibal smiles, kissing him again, glad that in wakefulness, at least, Will seems calm and settled. He doesn't ask if Will wants to talk about it – he can guess what is plaguing Will's nightmares. He can only hope the satisfaction of destroying the people who took him helps, or at least provides a stepping stone on the road to his recovery.

Then, knowing that his next words will cause tension to return to Will's shoulders, will bring back the frantic darkness in his eyes, Hannibal sighs, and gently pets over his hip. "Would you like something to eat, before we hit the road?"

Will's nostrils flare, he breathes out, and bites his lower lip hard enough to white out the edges. He shakes his head and turns away, not in rejection, but so that he can see Alana. He smiles at her, wraps his fingers between hers and kisses her wedding ring.

"Not hungry," he says, low. "But I won't say 'No' to coffee."

"Ooh, coffee," Alana says in agreement, her eyes bright. Hannibal huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, and he pushes himself upright with one more parting kiss to Will's hair and a brief nuzzle at Alana's neck.

"Coffee it is," he says. He grabs Alana's discarded robe and lets it drop over the edge of the nest, within easy reach, and smiles when Will reaches over her body and takes it, pressing it to his nose. "The drive is long, and we'll want to leave soon so we don't miss traffic."

Will nods. Despite the tension in his shoulders, in his bared and flexing neck, he does not seem nervous, or afraid at the prospect of returning to that place. But why would he? Hannibal and Alana will be there, and the only thing that can hurt him now are memories.

Hannibal smiles at him, and leaves, washing his hands and face in the guest bathroom before he heads downstairs. The air is cool after the damp heat of Will's nest room and he shivers, going to his coffee machine – his 'Chemistry Set' as Will likes to call it – and starts the process of warming the water.

He lifts his head when he hears his phone ringing, and turns to see Alana holding it, her black robe slung around her shoulders. Will is at her back, his hands on her hips, chin hooked at her shoulder. They look lovely together, and Hannibal's lips twitch in a smile, only to fall as he sees who, exactly, is calling him.

Will huffs through his nose, turns and nips at Alana's jaw. "Probably wants to make sure I haven't eaten you guys yet," he says, only half-joking. Still, she rolls her eyes and swats at him, and he smiles, tightening his arms around her and semi-corralling her to the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island.

She sits, and Hannibal smiles, and answers the phone. "Good morning, Agent Crawford," he says brightly – for he is still in a relatively genial mood, more relieved than he could possibly say at the scent of a happy woman and Omega, finally, in his home again. He had never imagined his kitchen could smell this good without a meal being promised for it. "What can I do for you?"

"Good morning, Hannibal," Jack replies, his voice calm. Aloof. Like he might still be holding his breath so that he doesn't scent Will through the phone. Hannibal wonders if it affected him that badly, if he went home after and mounted his sickly wife – and then grimaces to himself, for that thought is in poor taste. "How is everything?"

Hannibal hums, and eyes Alana and Will. Will used to keep a deck of cards by the fruit bowl on the kitchen island, and now he has another, conjured from somewhere, and they appear to be in a fierce, whispered game of 'Go Fish'. He watches Will arch an eyebrow, ask 'Threes?', and then Alana pouts and hands two cards to him. It's an endearing sight and, for a moment, he is breathless.

"Hannibal?"

"Forgive me," Hannibal replies, and turns away, setting his eyes on the coffee machine instead. "Everything is going well, here. Will agreed to take Neutral, so he's been resting, mostly, recovering from his heat. We had Charlie and Rosanna over for dinner, last night."

Jack makes a quiet sound, like he already knew this. "Charlie called me, this morning," he says, his voice dark. Hannibal can imagine him now, probably already at his desk at the BAU, bent over the top of it, heel of his hand at his forehead, the weight of the world and the darkest of man's sins heavy on his brow. "He told me what you talked about, last night. About Hobbs."

Hannibal closes his eyes, and though he cannot fault Charlie with wanting to tell Jack – Jack is, after all, the lead investigator for this case, and Hannibal has deferred to him in Charlie's presence, cementing his authority – still, a hot bubble of anger and aggravation blossoms in his chest. He tightens his hand around the phone and tries not to growl.

"Yes," he says, and turns to look at his mates again. They have stopped playing their game, and Will's eyes are dark on his face, like he already knows. "I suspected, after it appeared that Charlie and Will shared similar timelines for major life events. Missus Louise Hobbs handled both our marriage and mating certificates. Will identified her husband and daughter as the Alpha and girl who held him captive."

"And you're certain?" Jack says sharply.

Hannibal presses his lips together, and resists the urge to ask why Will's word isn't good enough. He knows why. "I was compiling sketches under his guidance, before I found the photograph of them," he says. "It's a good likeness, Jack. I am certain."

Will blinks, and his brow lowers. He pushes himself to his feet, game forgotten, and grabs Alana's hand.

"We need to get dressed," he tells her. He meets Hannibal's eyes, and they exchange a nod, a look of complete understanding passing between them. Before Will's disappearance, Hannibal had felt that the three of them could have entire conversations without exchanging a single word. How refreshing, to find that still holds true.

Jack's low growl calls his attention back, and Hannibal turns away, folding an arm across his chest. "I can send the sketches to you, if you think they'll prove useful," he says quietly. "But if I were them, I would have taken precautions. Haircuts, dye."

"But they have an infant," Jack says. "That'll narrow it down."

Hannibal nods, having considered that. "Unless they separated," he offers. "The Alpha might have left his daughter and son behind, until he found somewhere secure, or the frenzy of the media died down." He pauses, and says; "We can't let it die, Jack. I want them looking over their shoulder at every turn."

"You and me both," Jack says, just as angry. It soothes the snarling creature in Hannibal's chest, somewhat. Somewhat. "I just…" He stops, sighing.

"What is it, Jack?"

"I can't help thinking Will would be perfect to catch this kinda crazy."

Hannibal blinks, and presses his lips together. He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. "I know why you feel that way," he replies. "And I'm inclined to agree." Will was, after all, so keen-sighted, a perfect hunting dog for a man like Jack. He still is. But this is Will's hunt, now, and he can't afford to be distracted by a leash and by law when Hannibal promised him this man's heart. "But I cannot, in good conscience, condone it. As a psychiatrist, and as his mate, I won't let you pull him back into the field."

Jack lets out a soft, impatient growl, but he says, "I know." And Hannibal sighs, running a hand through his hair, rolling his shoulders to force them to ease their tension.

He turns, and sees Will at the threshold. His hair has not been combed, but tamed somewhat, like Will ran his fingers through it to get it somewhat flat. Hannibal doesn't recall ever seeing a brush in Will's possession and he's surely not going to start now. Will is wearing dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and a ghastly-clashing red and blue plaid shirt over that, unbuttoned and hanging loosely off his shoulders.

He looks like himself, right down to the sharpness of his gaze, the teasing arch of his throat and the knowing, sly upward tilt to the corners of his mouth. Hannibal's mouth goes dry, he swallows, and drums his knuckles on the kitchen counter.

"I'll speak to you later, Jack," he says. "Good luck."

Jack hums. "Send over those sketches when you have time," he replies. "It'll be good to get something more updated, anyway."

"Certainly. Happy hunting."

"You too," Jack says, resigned like a father who knows his child will try and sneak into the cookie jar the second his back is turned, and has run out of energy to scold. Hannibal smiles to himself, remembering Jack's promise to him when Will was first found, and he hangs up the phone, setting it down.

Will lets out a soft purr, catching Hannibal's attention, his smile widening as he pushes his shoulder from the door frame and prowls close to Hannibal. His fingers settle over the back of Hannibal's hand, trail up around his wrist, cup his arm just below the elbow.

He tips his chin up, nosing at Hannibal's jaw, and presses a gentle kiss over Hannibal's pulse and Hannibal's breath catches, his hand sliding into place on the side of Will's neck, curling into his hair. Will is still slightly sharp from sweat, from his nightmare, the paltry routine of changing clothes and washing his face doing nothing to erase that scent from Hannibal's sensitive nose.

Will's voice, when it comes, is as sharp and deadly as a cobra bite; "Will you keep me caged forever, Hannibal?"

Hannibal does not pull away. Will's teeth are at his neck, but Hannibal's are at Will's – both of them, always, in unique and equal positions to hurt each other, but also to help each other. He purrs when Will does, and nuzzles him.

"You are not caged, darling," he replies.

Will shivers, tightens his hand on Hannibal's arm, says; "I heard what you told Jack." Hannibal nods, for he cannot deny it. "Is my leash meant to feel different when you're the one holding it?"

Hannibal does smile, then, for Will is being incendiary by design, but his voice is soft and almost playful, the same way he would wax poetic on the different sins that might earn a man or woman a place at their table as the guest of honor. He will not pull the trigger, but he manipulates the hand around the gun with an artistry all his own.

"Not a leash, Will," he replies. He tightens his hand on Will's neck, spreads his thumb and fingers until Will gasps "Does it feel like a leash?"

He pulls back, and Will's eyes are dark, his cheeks flushed. He parts his lips and shows Hannibal his teeth. "I'll believe you," he murmurs. "If you can tell me the difference between what I did for Jack, and what I'm doing for you, now. Tell me how your intentions and your designs differ from his."

Hannibal smiles, and yanks Will close to him, all plans for coffee gone. Will goes, gasping, and Hannibal cups the back of his head, threads his fingers through Will's hair and kisses him deeply – suddenly enough that Will goes lax for him immediately on contact, moaning, a gentle ache in the base of his throat as Hannibal kisses him.

He pulls back, guides Will to the counter, takes his wrists and settles Will's hands upon it. Will goes still, head bowed, showing his nape.

"You know why it's different," Hannibal says; testing, to see if Will might forgive his tides their gentle rocks, or if he will demand a storm.

Will snaps his teeth, snarls, his eyes glowing in the reflection of the gleaming silver knife block by his hand. "Say it anyway."

Hannibal smiles, and noses Will's flushed nape. He nips, and Will's shoulders roll, turn. He shoves at Hannibal and Hannibal lets him do it, takes a single step back just so Will can pretend to flee, and then follows him. He nudges Will's shoulder when Will growls, guides him with soft knocks of his knuckles, the same way one might make an insect to go this way or that.

It is a tame chase, but Will is wild by the end of it, his cheeks and neck a deep, blushing red, his eyes flashing with gold.

"It's different because it's me," Hannibal says, for that is, in essence, the root of it. Will lifts his chin, lifts his brows; _Not enough, sweetheart_. "It's different because I am not building you a cage, Will. Not a kennel, for you to sleep in until it's time to take you out and do tricks. Your home with me, with Alana, is a castle, and a nest. Somewhere for you to feel safe, and do as you like, and be what you want."

"Pretty words," Will purrs, but he's gentler, now, lashes low and pupils wide with pleasure. Hannibal smiles, and bites down gently on his shoulder, catching Will's hips with his hands. Will shivers, and goes still, pinned in the corner of the counter. His head tilts back, knocking on cupboards. His thighs spread, just enough to tease, not enough to give Hannibal enough room.

Hannibal lifts his head, kisses Will's clean-shaven jaw, and takes a deep breath at his neck. He pauses, blinking in surprise, and his brow creases, as he leans in and scents Will again.

He pulls back, and sees Will press his lips together, one shoulder lifting in a shrug.

"Not the suppressants," he says, almost sheepish. "Just the, ah, birth control."

Hannibal tilts his head. He wants to ask why. But he knows why. His fingers flex on Will's hips, tighten, and he swallows.

"I feel your cage metaphor extends to more than just Jack wanting you to track Hobbs for him."

Will doesn't deny it. "Maybe not a kennel," he says. "Maybe not a cage. But not a nest, either. A nest is for little birds, eggs and fledglings, and you will not give me that." He swallows, tightly. "I feel as if I am a mouse in a maze, and you and Alana are watching me, and if I can figure out how to get out of it, then I'll be…me again. Then we can be _us_ again."

"Will, I -." Hannibal stops, and swallows. "I never wanted you to feel that way."

Will sighs, rubbing both hands over his face in a harsh scrub, before he settles and fixes Hannibal with a faint smile. "I know," he says. "But what we want isn't always on the menu, so." He shrugs again, and shakes his head. When he looks at Hannibal, his eyes are clearer, his voice softer and closer to the gentle, sweet thing it had been when he'd thanked Hannibal for soothing him from his nightmare.

"I just, you said you wouldn't mount me until Hobbs was dead, and that's -. I can't live with that," Will continues, shaking his head with a soft snarl. "I won't let that son of a bitch stall, or stain, anything about what we have. I refuse to let him into my nest, into our bed, I won't let him." Hannibal swallows, for it didn't occur to him that Will would think of it like that.

"So, if me being on birth control is what you need, I'll do it," Will finishes with a sigh. He bites his lower lip, settling his hands over Hannibal's, and brings them up to between their chests. He bends his head, kissing almost absently at Hannibal's knuckles. His eyes are somewhere to the side, on the kitchen counter, but it doesn't feel like evasion. "And I hate to admit it, but you're right – I've been…. I'm not in the right state of mind to think about…making a family. And even if I was, it's a decision that involves all three of us, and it's unfair of me to try and just make it by myself and expecting you both to go along."

He sucks in a breath, his eyes lift, and Hannibal is helpless. He cups Will gently at the neck, presses forward and kisses him, chastely, but heavy with love. Will's lashes flutter and he goes lax, clutching at Hannibal's back, lets Hannibal taste his lower lip and feel the gentle thrum of his pulse.

When Hannibal pulls back, he makes sure Will is looking at him when he says; "That conversation is not over, Will." Will blinks at him, licks his pinked lower lip, shivers. "There aren't words to describe how happy it would make me, to see our pack grow."

Will flushes, but offers a small, tentative smile, and Hannibal kisses him again.

 

 

Hannibal did not care to read the case file depicting the Hobbs cabin, where Will and Charlie and the others were found, and frankly, he could happily never set foot near the place. It is a remote building, frankly it's a miracle that Charlie's heat summoned the hiker at all, though he imagines if the wind proved favorable it could carry quite some distance.

It is a place that seems to have been eagerly overtaken by nature, even though it's been less than two weeks since Will was recovered. The ground is unfriendly towards anything but heavy hiking boots, and while Will navigates the area with the surefootedness of a stag, Hannibal and Alana follow at a much steadier, slower pace.

There is not, as Hannibal suspected there would be, a house where Garrett Jacob Hobbs and Abigail lived during their five years here, but there is a flat lot of grass that bears heavy imprints from the presence of a trailer. Whether it's a fully-functioning mobile home, or something that would need to be hitched to a truck, Hannibal cannot tell, but he makes a note to ask Will for his assumptions, so that he might tell Jack, attaching some lie that would stop the other Alpha thinking they were taking the hunt into their own hands.

There is a single, low entrance, like a storm cellar, that juts out from the ground a little way away from the flat lawn area. Hannibal can see, from Alana's and Will's faces, that they do not want to enter that place. Hannibal himself is certainly not eager – but he cannot refuse, especially when Will, after a moment, rolls his shoulders, squares his jaw, and marches down the flight of cement steps and into the darkness.

Hannibal looks at Alana, and she gives him a weak smile, before she takes his hand, and they follow.

The inside is just as Hannibal imagined it would be and also so, so much worse. The stairs lead down, through a single, thick metal door, and open into a room. The room itself has a set of four cages, set up in a horseshoe pattern around them – the first, starting at his left, has a single shaft of light settling it in from a hole in the ceiling. It is also, Hannibal notes, the only cell that is wet, and bears a sharp breach of missing wall where the rescue and extraction team undoubtedly cut through it to free Will and Charlie.

He lets Alana's hand go, and goes to it. Will grunts, and there is a whir of a backup generator, and lights come on. Will is standing on the opposite side of the door, by the last cage. The light is a series of three, down the center of the ceiling.

Hannibal tries not to breathe through his nose, though his scenting palette is equally sensitive. He looks at the cages, and they are more like boxes, made of a mesh of rusting chain-link. The cells themselves are ten feet by ten feet, and lack even the most basic of necessities like a mattress or a place to go to the bathroom. It's easy to see how Gregory got sick. Frankly it's a wonder they all didn't die of sepsis.

Between each cell is a small, tunnel-like structure, and Hannibal tilts his head, approaching the one between the first and second. Each one, in the center, has a single sheet of metal, thick like the door. He nudges one absently, testing it, and finds it not anchored to anything, but it could only lift, the way it's positioned, up a foot or so, so an Omega would have to crawl on his belly while the second one held it up, for them to be together.

Will clears his throat, and Hannibal and Alana turn to him. "That one was mine," he says, nodding to the first one with the hole in the ceiling and the wet wall. His eyes are bright in the dim room, his voice thick, and he nods to the opposite corner, two cells away. "They put Charlie in that one. So it was harder to get to him, I guess." He presses his lips together, growls low. "But I was strong. They couldn't make me stay."

Alana wipes her hands under her eyes. They are not tears of sadness, but deep, deep outrage. Will folds his arms across his chest, and nods to the one opposite his, on the other side of the door. "Gregory was in that one," he says, and then the one between Will's and Charlie's. "David, there."

Hannibal swallows, and moves towards Gregory's cell, more out of olfactory curiosity than anything else. As he passes, he brushes Will's arm with a gentle hand.

"How often did they visit?" he asks. "Was it routine, or only when a heat came?"

Will shakes his head and walks into the center of the room, rubbing his arms like the place is making him itch. "The Alpha only came when someone was in heat. The girl – Abigail – she'd come daily. She'd bring us food." His upper lip curls back, his nose wrinkles. "Slid us slop like we were fuckin' pigs." His head tilts. "Well, once the cells were full. The more of us there were, the harder it was to feed us all, I guess."

Alana frowns, and looks to Hannibal. "They had to be getting food from somewhere," she says. "If he wasn't just giving you things he could hunt."

Hannibal presses his lips together, nodding. Not a good provider – this Alpha couldn't even feed one Omega, let alone four. There is some flicker of Alpha pride in his chest, that he can and has provided nourishment for both of his mates and all their friends, but he tamps it down, for this is neither the time nor the place.

Will must sense it, though, for he huffs, and fixes Hannibal with a challenging smile. "Guess not every Alpha has the stomach for real hunting."

"I think it's fair to say this Alpha is the worst kind of coward," Hannibal replies smoothly. "Kidnapping and assaulting claimed Omegas instead of seducing his own. I'm sure picking his brain would prove diverting."

"I'd rather pick other parts of him," Alana says sharply. Will and Hannibal both smile at her.

"Darling," Hannibal says, drawing Will's attention. "I noticed deep tire tracks, and flat grass outside. Perhaps from a trailer. Do you remember hearing anything coming and going?"

Will blinks at him, frowning, and licks his lips. "…Yes," he says, almost hesitantly. He looks to the door and strides towards it, and Alana follows behind in a hurry. Hannibal feels, similarly, a deep urge to leave this place and never come back. Perhaps burn it to the ground. He shuts off the power and retreats from the darkness, into the cool, brightly-lit outside air.

Will is standing beside the flat, grassy area, his eyes darting at the little indents. He nudges one with his foot. "Beverly probably has photos and imprints," he says. "Jack will be running the model, if he's smart."

Hannibal nods in agreement. "He's going to run their photos, too," he tells his mates. "There will be a lot of people looking for them, soon, and increasingly smaller pockets of the world in which to hide their ugliness."

Will's eyes snap to him, and he tilts his head. His brow creases and he shifts his weight, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "What is it, Will?" Alana asks, reaching for him. Will hums, leaning into her touch, sighing as she squeezes his shoulder.

"Just…something Abigail said to me, once," he murmurs. "It was right before Gregory gave birth. Right before they left."

"What did she say?" she murmurs.

Will's shoulders roll, his eyes on the door to the cellar. "She asked me if it felt really bad, to kill someone, and I told her, I -." He swallows. "I told her it was the ugliest thing in the world, but also the most beautiful thing in the world. It just depended on how it was done." His eyes flash to Hannibal. "And who did it."

Hannibal tilts his head.

"And she said it wasn't murder if, if the body was honored. Every piece of it used. I remember her crying when she took Gregory's baby from him. She knew he was going to die, and I think -." His lip curls back and he snarls, very softly, the same way silence gives way to a deafening roar. "She wanted to honor him. She wanted to make him beautiful."

He swallows, harshly, and jerks his chin away, tilts into Alana's hand and rubs his cheek along her knuckles, until she embraces him and he buries his face in her neck. Hannibal goes to them, petting Will's hair and nudging his nose to Alana's temple.

"There are many kinds of people who hold similar beliefs, when it comes to treatment of a body," he says, testing.

Will shakes his head. "Not like this," he says, pulling back and wiping at his face. "Gregory wasn't used properly – he was left to rot in that cell, until we ate him. That's not what she wanted. We were all…hunted. Stalked. Captured and caged, and they used us, but they didn't do it _right_."

Alana is frowning, and gently touches Will's flushed cheek. "Do you think they were hunters?" she asks.

"I…don't think it's unlikely," Will replies, and blinks, rapid-fire. He shivers and Hannibal resists the urge to embrace him, to shield Will's eyes and turn him away from this terrible place. Will needs to see, and Jack was right – he might be the only one who can. "This kind of place, it's remote, and the land can get treacherous. It's easy to get lost."

That is certainly true. It's a testament to its location that it took five years of heats to find it. "So we will need to look somewhere remote," Hannibal says, idly petting over Will's neck. "Somewhere they will not be noticed. It is not hunting season – they cannot escape to the mountains and disappear without being monitored somewhere, by someone."

"The Canadian border isn't far from here," Alana says. "They wouldn't risk getting so close, surely."

Will hums, and lifts his eyes towards the trees. He trembles again, finely, and wraps his arms around himself tightly. His eyes are dark, head ducked, and he noses at Hannibal's neck.

"I'd like to leave now," he says quietly. "The, ah, the scents are getting to me."

Hannibal nods, immediately pulling Will to him so Will can breathe in deeply at his neck. Will sags, sighing in relief, as they head back to the car. "Alana, would you mind driving?" he asks. She smiles, and nods, and Hannibal and Will climb into the backseat while she settles in the driver's. Hannibal doesn't look at the condemned ground as they drive away. He pets through Will's hair, and purrs, hoping to settle him, and tries not to let his frustration show, for in reality, Garrett Jacob Hobbs, his daughter, and his son could be anywhere, and the only thing this trip did was bring to light how terrible Will's situation had been, for five years.

And, sharp as a blade, Hannibal's guilt over not looking for him rises up, and spears him through the heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's like 4am for me sooooooooo I ended it here but I have a *plan* it's gonna be *fine*


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself sad but we're getting to the final act now :D

They stop for gas on the Pennsylvania border. Will is lax and dozing in Hannibal's arms, his cheek on Hannibal's thigh as Hannibal pets through his hair. He looks youthful in sleep; an innocence Hannibal only distantly remembers as he stares down at his mate. Alana gets out of the car to fill up the tank and Hannibal, after a moment, follows her, taking off his coat and balling it up to act as a cushion, full of his scent, for Will's head. He gets out of the car and joins her as she pays for gas and begins to pump.

They both stand, leaning against the car, Alana's arms folded as she watches the numbers tick up as the car fills. Finally, she sighs, and lifts her chin.

Hannibal tilts his head to her, and meets her eyes when she turns her head. "Will told me he's going on birth control," she says, and Hannibal nods. How many times, before he made his intentions known, had they discussed Will? Hannibal thinks the Omega might have consumed his every thought since the moment they met, enthralled and ensnared Hannibal's senses. Hannibal had never thought himself prone to intense infatuation, but he cannot deny that both Alana and Will conjure that in him. He'd known he would marry Alana after their second meeting. He'd known he would mate with Will after their first – providing, of course, all parties were amenable.

"He's already started," Hannibal replies. He presses his lips together, and thinks of the implant scar. He sighs, and looks to the meter. "Did he tell you that he tore his implant out? While he was in captivity?"

She frowns, and shakes her head.

Hannibal nods. "He did it a while ago," he replies. "That's why he could finally go into heat. Perhaps Charlie's triggered his, after a while, but he told me that he was unable to keep listening to his fellow Omegas being assaulted. That he was willing to breed for Hobbs by the end."

She makes a sound, something furious, but considering. Not offended by Will's decision, but the circumstances that led to it. He meets her eyes, sees them ocean-dark like she gets when she's angry. Finally, she turns to face him fully, arms still folded, shoulder and hip braced against the car.

"Hannibal," she says, her tone even like she's trying very hard to make it so. Hannibal regards her, waiting, patient; "Why haven't you mounted him yet?"

Hannibal frowns. Isn't it obvious? "Hobbs -."

"No," she says, sharply. "Don't bullshit me. You can lie to yourself all you want but not to me." He sighs, and tilts his head back, lax against the side of the car. "You've never given a shit about social propriety before, not since Will became ours. You would go to his nest when he asked you to, you were never not touching him. Now you act as though even the barest touch will hurt him."

He sighs. It is something that has plagued him since Will was found. His fists clench in the pockets of his suit pants and he looks up to the sky, as if the Heavens might provide the answer. He thinks back to when Will was caged, in Chilton's cell, snarling and goading and then, coaxing, trying to get Hannibal to mount him right there. It was a trick at the time, he is sure, but now Will's behavior is free, and he is willing.

So, why?

"For years, now, you both have known what kind of creature I am," he says, slowly, testing the words before giving them voice. "And Will, to our shared delight, understands us. He trusts you, and through you, he trusted and allowed himself to love me."

She frowns. "Is that how you see it?"

"Is that not how it is?"

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, huffing an exasperated sigh. "No, you -." She shakes her head again and straightens, tugging at her hair. "You are so brilliant and sometimes so stupid."

He blinks at her, amused by her outburst.

"Did he not ask for you? Has he not come to you, and begged for your kiss, and your touch, and for you to mount him? He _wants_ you, Hannibal. Why can't you see that?" He frowns. "He wants you so badly. You remember…" She swallows, drops her eyes. "You remember the day he was brought to us? After he'd gone into heat, and you asked me if I…remembered what it felt like, to be with him. And you said you didn't remember at all. But you wanted to. I could tell you wanted to."

And he did. He _does_. His teeth itch and his fingers ache to touch Will, to cover and consume him as easily as he once did. Hannibal doesn't answer.

"Is it so crazy to think he wants the same?"

He sighs. "Alana -."

"No, let me talk," she snaps, and glares at him. "He's been alone for _five years_ , Hannibal. Imagine that you had been the one taken, that you had been caged, and forced to endure solitary like that. Imagine not being able to touch your mates, to do nothing but provide comfort to people who were just as terrified, but weaker than you."

Hannibal doesn't want to think about it. His empathy and compassion are no match for Will's and Alana's. But he tries.

"Now imagine that Will and I had found you. That after five years, you had our scents again, you could see us, and hear our voices, and you knew that we would take care of you, provide for you, and keep you safe. Wouldn't you want to do anything in your power to be close to us?"

He frowns, an ache in his chest that is sharp and hot settling, pulsing behind his heart. His fingers curl, and he cannot fathom not being able to touch Alana for five years. Had he only had Will as a mate, if Will had been taken from him, Hannibal knows much would be different. He would have gone mad without her there to center and ground him.

He closes his eyes, and lets out his breath in a heavy, slow exhale.

"Alana," he says, gently, "I know you mean well. But imagine, for a moment, that you are in my position." She huffs, and he opens his eyes and looks to her. "Imagine you are an Alpha. You are the same breed as the man who kidnapped, tortured, and assaulted your mate. You are the one he wanted to attack, the one he was afraid of, the one that -." He stops, and swallows, his voice thick.

He can't meet her eyes. "Imagine Will recoiling from you."

She presses her lips together, her mouth turned down at the corners. She tilts her head and her face softens, expression turning into something deeply, deeply sad.

"Imagine knowing that one wrong move, one growl too loud or too sudden, one touch too harsh, and those memories might all come flooding back. Yes, Hobbs never mounted him, but Will had to listen to the others who were not so fortunate. He might have had to watch. And he decided, at some point, that watching and doing nothing wasn't enough. He chose to become an active participant in his own abuse, for the sake of his friends. Friends that, in the end, he still couldn't save."

He shakes his head.

"I cannot possibly touch him like that, when I know he might be thinking of Hobbs when I do."

"Hannibal," she breathes, achingly soft. "That's not…. You know that's not what this is."

"I can't take that risk," Hannibal replies, resigned. "You told me you can't lose him. Well, I can't lose him either. Maybe, after Hobbs is found and dealt with, maybe then. When I can promise him the creature from his nightmares is dead and gone, he will feel safe enough that he will not shy away from me, but until then…"

The pump clicks, the tank full, and he turns away from her, disengaging the nozzle and placing it back on the handle. They take their receipt and Hannibal gets in driver's seat, Alana in the passenger side.

Will stirs when the car starts, sitting upright and rubbing at his flushed cheeks. His eyes snap to Hannibal's in the rearview mirror, his brow creasing, and he looks down at Hannibal's coat. He sighs, a strangely resigned expression crossing his face, and Hannibal watches as he cradles the coat to his face, breathing in deeply. The whine he lets out feels like longing.

They drive in silence for a while, before Hannibal pulls over into a rest stop when Alana says she needs to use the bathroom. She gets out and Hannibal leaves the car running, letting the heat keep him and Will warm.

They sit, and then Will clears his throat and Hannibal lifts his eyes to look at him in the mirror. "I've been thinking," he says.

Hannibal tilts his head.

"Abigail was, what, seventeen when her mother went missing?" Hannibal frowns – he didn't pay attention to her age, but that sounds about right, given the picture of her. "That means she would have been registered in a high school. She can't have been at the trailer and cages all day. She was gone, during school hours. He would have registered her somewhere. And she…she talked about going to college. They can't do that with a baby, but maybe she's taking online classes or something."

Hannibal considers this, ignoring the sharp flare of something pitiful and jealous, that apparently she and Will became friendly enough that they talked about _college_. Such a mundane, normal thing to speak about – what kind of girl can do that, with a man that is locked in a cage at the whim of her father?

"I don't suppose she mentioned a particular college," he says.

Will sighs, and shakes his head. "Needle in a fucking haystack," he mutters. He's still clutching Hannibal's coat, holding it tight to his chest, and the sight warms Hannibal in a way he cannot describe. The ruined walls of his mind palace, around the place he built for Will, tremble and shift under a volcanic surge of emotion.

He wishes that he were beside Will, that he could reach out and placate and soothe him as he used to. Will's distress is thick in the car, sharpening his normal scent, and Hannibal's mouth waters. He drops his eyes and looks outward, through the windshield.

Will whines. "Hannibal," he says, and Hannibal looks at him again, finds Will staring at him with wide, golden eyes. His fingers curl in the coat and he bites his lower lip, and whispers, "Please. Come here."

Hannibal is out the door and in the backseat before he can think about it, and he's not sure if Will used his Voice, but it doesn't matter. He slides into place behind the driver's seat and Will makes room for him, and stares, like he's just as surprised to be obeyed.

He presses his lips together, his eyes lowering, and then he ducks his head and shifts forward, hesitantly, like he's afraid Hannibal will push him away. Hannibal is motionless, breath baited and caught, and then Will touches him – a light touch, a hand on his arm, sliding down until his fingers are wrapped around Hannibal's wrist. Then, further, until their fingers lace.

"Are you angry with me?" he breathes.

Hannibal frowns. How could Will think that? "No," he replies, before he asks; "Why?"

Will licks his lips, his eyes on their folded hands, and Hannibal squeezes his, gently. "I can smell anger on you," he replies. "And something, something dark. You used to smell like that when Alana or I would tell you about someone to hunt."

His eyes flood, his breathing turns shaky. He trembles and clutches Hannibal's coat with his free hand. "I was taken and you thought I left and I've been trying to figure out why. Why did you think me capable of it? Why did you think I was so unhappy that leaving without a word seemed reasonable to you? And I don't know, I don't understand and I hate that I don't understand. I used to always know you, and Alana, and now you're strangers. Worse than strangers, because I can't _see_ and I -. I feel broken."

Hannibal's chest expands, rapidly, and he aches, full of lead and iron and he wants to reach out, to pull Will into a kiss, to wrap Will in his arms and never let go again. Will clenches his eyes tightly shut, teeth gritted and bared, and yanks his hand away, wrapping his arms around Hannibal's coat and pulling his heels up to the edge of the seat.

"Is it because I offered to breed with Abigail?" he demands, harsh and thick. He's not looking at Hannibal, but down at his knees. "Or because I tore out my implant? Is that why?"

"Will -."

"I never stopped hoping," he hisses, and the tears are falling now, but they are not sad. They are angry things, spicing his scent like peppermint. "Never, _never_. I told myself it wouldn't matter if there was a bastard with my eyes, that you would still love me. And I told myself you were still looking for me, that you both were, and when I came back you'd welcome me with open arms and I was wrong, wasn't I? Because you didn't look. You didn't come. You would have never come."

At that, Hannibal snarls, the outrage in him bubbling up so strongly he cannot stay silent. Will tenses, blinks, new tears rolling down his face, and Hannibal reaches out for him, takes his chin, and forces their eyes to meet.

He kisses Will. With teeth, with a growl, viscerally pleased when Will doesn't flinch from him, doesn't recoil. He lets Hannibal kiss him, lets him taste the salt on his lips and the dryness of his mouth. Hannibal clenches his fingers, slides them to Will's hair and tugs until Will gasps, letting him in fully. Hannibal's other hand finds one of Will's, forces his fingers to spread and make room so that they can lace together.

He pulls back when he must breathe, finds Will's eyes dark, pupils wide and black, what is left of his iris a burning gold. Will's scent has changed, anger and sorrow giving way to shock, to the first tentative wisps of slick, of arousal. There are hormones in an Alpha's saliva to trigger the slick response in Omegas and women, and in a mated pair that reaction comes much more quickly.

Hannibal drags his nails across Will's scalp, to the base of his neck. He squeezes, and Will flinches, wincing, and Hannibal's blood goes cold.

He pulls back immediately, letting go of Will, and touches his tender mouth. Breathes; "Forgive me." Will whimpers, wiping his hands over his face, and turns away from him. "I shouldn't have done that."

Will closes his eyes, his shoulders pulled up and trembling, and buries his face in Hannibal's coat. He shudders, clinging to the garment tightly, and Hannibal gets out of the car. He doesn't return until Alana comes back from the restrooms, and then he goes in, not for any physical reason but because he needs a moment away from Will's scent, from the sight of his tears and the thick feeling of his distress that rubs along him like a yowling animal.

His hands ball into fists and he narrowly resists the urge to do something drastic to the innards of the Alpha bathrooms. It takes him several moments, long breaths, and an idle fantasy of wringing the neck of the other Alpha in the room with him as he watches the man wash his hands, before he feels calm enough to return to his mates. When he does, Alana is in the backseat, petting Will's wrists and hair, and she glares at Hannibal as he gets into the driver's seat.

None of them speak, as Hannibal starts the car and drives them back home.

 

 

They go into the house and Hannibal goes outside, to the back porch, while Alana and Will go to Will's nest. He has never smoked a day in his life but for lack of anything to properly cook, he finds himself itching for something to do, and nicotine must be an effective calming agent otherwise no one would suffer the other consequences of smoking to get it.

He stares past the small patch of greenery, to the neatly trimmed trees that line his back garden, and growls to himself. _Stupid_ , reacting like that. He's the one that needs to be in control, that needs to reassure both himself and his mates that he isn't going to lose his head, and he has only done the opposite. He shouldn't have kissed Will, should not have reacted to his distress like that. His lips still cling to Will's taste, the scent of him coats Hannibal like oil and he glares down at his hands, clenching them until his knuckles turn white.

He needs to get away for a while. He could go hunting – they need more meat, and it will give him time and a more deserving outlet for his anger and his helpless frustration. But the thought of being away from Will and Alana spears him through the heart and he finds himself planted in place, unable to move one way or the other.

It is the same feeling he had when Will first disappeared. Driving himself mad with the need to find him, but every night he returned empty-handed, and every morning it was harder and harder to watch the hope in Alana's eyes that he knew would flicker and die out come nightfall. His practice had suffered, his friendships grew distant and obsolete, for nothing could fill the hole Will had left, and nothing ever will except the man himself. The thought of failing again and again, to the point where even Alana might leave, had been too much to bear and now he's suffering the consequences of it.

_Damned if you do, damned if you don't._

He snarls, and runs his hands through his hair, and breathes out. Well, he supposes that's a decision in itself. If he is to be damned either way, he will be damned for doing. Inaction has proven to be the worse of two evils, and so he will do. He will do so that Will and Alana don't have to. He will do, and live with whatever comes after.

Decided, he calls Jack.

"Hannibal." Jack sounds surprised. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"

"Have you been running the tire molds from their trailer?"

Jack pauses. "You went to the crime scene."

"Yes," Hannibal replies plainly. "There were deep furrows from a heavy vehicle. If they're in a mobile home they would have been able to pack up and leave on short notice. And the girl, Abigail, Will said she mentioned wanting to go to college."

"About that," Jack murmurs. "The Hobbs house was never put up for auction. Regular payments were being made for the mortgage and to keep the water and heat on." Jack pauses, and Hannibal frowns. "I'm having a team assembling so we can go investigate, but we're not leaving until the day after tomorrow."

Hannibal considers this.

"The day after tomorrow," he repeats, and eyes the sun. It is nearing dusk, but the airport is not far. "Where in Minnesota?"

"You didn't hear it from me," Jack says darkly. "But I'd fly into Minneapolis-Saint Paul. There's a suburb near it. Bloomington."

Hannibal nods, a harsh surge of anticipation rising in him. "Thank you, Jack," he breathes.

Jack hums, and pauses again. "Hannibal," he says, sternly. "I'm not saying one way or the other, but if my team happens to find something in that house, make sure that all we find is what we should be finding. I don't want to see Will in a cage ever again."

"I swear, Jack," Hannibal replies.

"Good. This call never happened."

Hannibal nods, and hangs up. His head is warm, eyes prickling and showing red. _Bloomington_. Finally, finally! A goal, a possible destination. Somewhere that the Hobbses cannot hide, for even if they are not there, a glimpse of their family life will be all Will needs to figure out the rest of them.

He pockets his phone and goes upstairs, finding the door to Will's nest cracked open. He pushes it further open, revealing Alana and Will sitting together in Will's nest, Hannibal's coat still in Will's lap, Alana gently petting through his hair.

Their eyes snap up to him. Alana looks furious, but quells when she sees Hannibal's face.

"Bloomington, Minnesota," he says, and Will frowns, brow creasing. "Jack has given us a two-day head start."

Will sits up, a subtle gleam in his eyes that looks predatory. His scent is still sour with distress but he stands, and throws Hannibal's coat to him. Hannibal catches it, and Will turns, helping Alana up and out of the nest.

She pats her dress down, gives Will a thankful smile, and looks to Hannibal. She is still angry, he can see it, but the emotion is pushed aside at the prospect of a new lead and a fresh hunt. He has not seen either of them so alight with anticipation for so long – too long. He wants to soak in this moment for the rest of his life.

Then, she nods, and takes Will's hand, and fixes Hannibal with a steely-eyed look. "Let's go kill this son of a bitch."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is 8k because I just couldn't split it but ARE Y'ALL READY FOR SOME CATHARSIS?

The Hobbs house is not difficult to find. Hannibal gets a rental car and the three of them drive the twenty minutes it takes in the midnight traffic to get to the house, and it is a plain, lackluster building, only an overgrown lawn present to suggest anything might be amiss.

Will is in the passenger seat, his eyes shining as they stare past Hannibal, as he pulls up on the opposite side of the road to the house, so that he is closest to it, and Alana, behind him. He thinks they might all be waiting for the house to blink, or snarl, or perform some other monstrous supernatural act – just to prove that there is evil there.

But there is no evil, not that kind, nor is there that kind of good either. There are simply men, who move about the whims and tides of each other. Some conquer, some suffer, and all die.

There are no cars in the driveway, no lights on except the porch light. No one is home – but someone has been here recently. There is a puddle in the light stone driveway of an overworked air conditioning unit – why it's being used in this cold, he has no idea, but it's there – and there are walkways tracked through the long grass. There is no abundance of built-up mail. Either it has been forwarded, or someone has come to collect it.

But there is one, final test. Hannibal had told Alana and Will that they didn't need to come with him, that with his sensitive nose, he would have easily recognized the scent of Hobbs if it was the same one in the cages, he would know if this is the right house. But the vehemence with which Will argued could not be denied.

"He's my kill," he had said, and the look in his eyes says it now. Hannibal turns to him, meets his shadowed gaze. In the street light glow, Will looks savage and severe, all bone and skin, teeth too large. Hannibal sighs, and reaches out to touch his hand.

Will startles – not flinching, not quite – but he blinks rapidly and his eyes focus on Hannibal, then Alana. "I'm going to roll the window down now," Hannibal tells him. Will blinks, sucks in a breath, and curls both hands around Hannibal's tightly.

He nods, and holds his breath, it seems, as Hannibal rolls down all four windows in the car. It takes a while for Alana's perfume and their natural scents to disperse, instead replaced with the smell of fallen leaves, mown grass, the remnants of oil from a leaky car, the subtly wet scent of distant thunder, the promise of snow in the sharp chill of the air.

Then, Will parts his lips, and sucks in a slow breath. His fingers curl around Hannibal's tightly, so tightly, and his brow creases, his eyes close. Hannibal can smell it, too – sourness. Bad meat. Bad _Alpha_ , and formula, the soft sweetness of a young woman, the promise of her own fertility. The wet, milky-powder scent of a child. He wonders who nurses the baby; Garrett or Abigail. Wonders which one of them wanted one in the first place.

Wonders if he might ever find out, and if he cares if he doesn't.

Will's sudden, loud whimper catches his attention, and Hannibal looks back at his mate, sees his face a tight, pinched mask of distress. His knuckles are white around Hannibal's and quickly Alana leans forward, between Hannibal's seat and the door, and pushes every button to get all the windows to roll back up.

Once that's done, she shifts across the seat and wraps a hand in Will's hair, tugging him back and putting her other hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "He's not here," she whispers, and looks at Hannibal as if saying 'Well?'. "We're here. He can't hurt you with us around."

Will is still whining – soft, plaintive sounds that only Hannibal can hear, and it feels as though there is some howling beast in his chest, and now it has grown horns and the power of speech, and it is screaming at him, _Why, why won't you help him?_

And its voice sounds like Will's, when he'd asked the same.

"Will," he breathes. Will's eyes open, half-mast, his pupils wide and swallowing the blue. Hannibal turns his hand between both of Will's, rubs gently up his wrists with it, but with his other, he pushes at Will's thigh. Half-way up, where there is a place that promotes anticipation, where the loving touch of an Alpha can settle immensely. It is near an artery, so evolution made Omegas sensitive to it, but socialization made them desire it.

He leans across the console, nuzzles Will's jaw until Will turns, and kisses him. It is chaste, and still he thinks he shouldn't, he shouldn't do this, not here, especially not here. But is it not what he's always done? An Alpha's job, his wonderful duty, is to protect and provide for his mates, to soothe them in their distress with his hands and his mouth and his purrs. To satisfy them in all things, good and bad, until they are pulled into the next life.

Hannibal has not forgotten how to soothe Will. It is something instinctive, buried deep in his bones, and he would sooner rip out his own heart than forget what Will has taught him.

Will's whines grow quiet, turn into a rough, desperate growl. He brings up one hand and curls it behind Hannibal's collar, fists the fabric tight as though daring him to pull away. Hannibal's hand tightens on his thigh, sliding in with basic instinct. He can smell Will, smell his distress melting away to something headier, something thicker that coats his tongue like honey. Can taste Will, feels the blush of him and the race of his heart in his wrists.

He pulls back for air and Will turns, seeks out Alana. She kisses him as well, leaning between the headrests, her hand still on Will's shoulder while her other one releases his hair, braces instead where Hannibal's and Will's fingers are folded.

Will pulls away from her, his lips pinked now, his eyes bright. He licks his lips, shivers, a flash of gold in his irises now as she cups his face and lets him nuzzle her neck. He whines again, sucking in a greedy breath of both of them, and squeezes Hannibal's hand, lets his coat go.

"Can we leave?" he whispers, begs. "I can't -. I can't do this right now."

Hannibal winces internally, and pulls back. Of course, he overstepped. He takes his hands from Will and puts the car in drive, the car lurching from its spot with a protesting squeal from the wheels. They drive in silence to a hotel, a few miles away – close enough that Hannibal can find it again from memory, not so close that he could go there and back without his absence being noticed.

They book a room – a triad room, with a King-sized bed large enough to fit the three of them, and Hannibal carries their bags inside and sets them down. Will follows, and Alana comes last, closing and locking the deadbolt, affixing the chain. The room is a cream affair, with a ginger-toned carpet and off-white walls, gold and blue accents in the curtains and red on the bed. Suiting both an Alpha's and Omega's color palettes. It smells clean enough, which he appreciates – he could not tolerate any foreign scents right now.

Will is trembling, and clearly exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes as he goes to the bed and sits on the end of it. He pulls off his shoes and socks, casting them to one side. Alana places her shoes neatly by the little closet next to the door, and then goes to Will and climbs up on the bed behind him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and kisses his neck and he shivers, slackening, head dipping down to give her more room.

Hannibal sheds his coat, his shoes, his socks and belt. He does not undress further, not wanting to imply anything – they packed only a small amount of clothes between them, enough for two days since Jack had said he would be following soon after. They can't be in the same state when he arrives.

He brings their toiletries to the bathroom, and when he returns, Will has his head turned to Alana, their lips meeting in a series of soft, tender kisses. The sight of them makes him ache sharply, a clench in his stomach that longs, _longs_ , and the beast in his chest is howling, throwing itself to the very edges of his control and trying to claw itself free.

Alana pulls back, looks up and meets Hannibal's eyes. There is a challenge in her own. "Will," she says quietly, and pets down Will's flanks. "Look at our Alpha."

Hannibal shivers, his fingers curling when Will gazes at him. Alana rarely calls him 'Alpha', only really refers to him as such in the general sense when speaking about the breed as a whole. It makes his mouth go dry, his teeth itching, when combined with the look Will is giving him – he looks ravenous, desperate, shaken.

Alana's hands come in and flatten over Will's heart. "Do you want him to touch you?"

Will frowns, turns his head but she nudges him, forcing him to look at Hannibal. "This isn't for your sake, Will," she murmurs. "Look at him. _Really look_."

And Hannibal feels laid bare when Will does it, eyes raking him up and down, and he's not sure what Will sees, but he desperately, desperately hopes it satisfies. He steps forward, magnetized to his mates, and Will sucks in a breath, lifts his chin.

Says, with utmost sincerity and absolutely no room for argument; "Touch me. I want you to touch me."

Hannibal shudders, heavy and wanton, and cups Will's face with one hand, feels the burn of growing stubble, the softness of his cheek beneath his thumb. Will swallows, no fear in his eyes, no wariness, just open need.

He reaches out and pulls Hannibal closer, between his knees, and says, "I want you to kiss me."

Hannibal can't disobey. He bends, bows for Will, and kisses him harshly enough that Will moans, arching up between him and Alana. Alana moves back, to the side, and Will pushes himself back onto the bed, Hannibal helpless but to follow. They end up on their sides, Will on one edge of the bed, Alana on the other, Hannibal in the middle.

Alana curls herself around Hannibal's back, tugs on Will's hips until they are pressed tightly together from chest to knee, and Hannibal stiffens, letting out a warning sound. He can't let her force Will into doing anything, can't overstep. If Will -.

Will freezes, and pulls back, a heavy frown on his face. He bites his lower lip, raking over Hannibal's expression, and presses a gentle, trembling touch to his chest. "Why do you keep pulling away from me?" he demands, and it is angry in a way people choose to be angry so that they do not give way to grief. Hannibal has seen it many times before.

But Will's words hit him, and he frowns as well. Alana hums, behind him, kissing his shoulder. "Look at him, Hannibal," she whispers into his ear, making him shiver. "Can't you smell him? Can't you see how much he wants you?"

And Hannibal tries, but he can't, because Will is shaking and there's an Alpha in the room and he has the scent of his tormentor in his lungs and Hannibal wants to wipe it all away, but to assert himself like that, to placate Will until he is a thoughtless, shivering mess of muscle, is a cruel thing, like drugging someone before cutting off their limbs.

He shakes his head, and Will whines, and it's a heartbroken, gutted sound. He tries to pull back, but Alana's hold is firm on his hip and he can't go far.

"No," she demands. "I'm sick of this, of you both dancing around each other instead of talking like adults." She nips, sharply, at Hannibal's clothed shoulder, hard enough to make him hiss. Will shivers at the sound of it, his eyes wide.

He tilts his head, and Hannibal knows that look on his face. He blinks, unfocused, and then _very_ focused, gaze sharpening with something predatory and decisive. He is the one to lean in this time, to cup Hannibal's face and kiss him with teeth, with tongue, licking into Hannibal's mouth like he used to do, before all this, and Hannibal hears Alana's pleased hum as he grabs at Will, helpless to resist him, and gasps when he feels Will's cock rutting up, hard, against his.

"Will," he breathes when they part, and his mouth was dry but now it's wet, he's salivating. He needs to bite Will, _needs_ to.

Will's eyes flash, and he cups Hannibal's nape, pulls him in and bares his throat. "I'm not afraid of you," he says, and it's a challenge and Hannibal growls, lunging forward, pulling Will away from Alana's hold. He rolls Will to his back, slides a hand into his hair, tugs, sharply, to get him to bare his neck. "I'm not afraid of you," he says again. "I never have been."

He should be, he should be. Hannibal is a monster, arguably worse than even Hobbs, for he kills and consumes the flesh of his fellow man. He parts his jaws, edges his teeth along Will's tender, pink throat. He's too clean, here, too pale and fresh. Like an unmated Omega. It is an abhorrent thought.

"Hannibal," Will breathes, and rakes his nails down Hannibal's back. " _Please._ "

Whether he uses his Voice or not, Hannibal cannot resist him. He never could, not like that. He snarls and sinks his teeth into Will's neck, deep enough to split skin, to shed blood, and Will locks up and whimpers, clawing frantically at Hannibal's shoulders, his thighs spreading. The scent of his slick explodes in the air, sweet as his blood, and Hannibal shudders, rutting down against him, tongue flattening wide and wet over his bite as he reclaims Will, tugs at his flesh, his hands flat on Will's waist to stop him moving away.

But Will isn't moving away. Isn't retreating. When Hannibal pulls back, Will's eyes are wide and blistering gold, and he grabs Hannibal's hair and kisses him. It is a desperate thing, but it is also achingly familiar, like a song from childhood or a home-cooked meal. Something in the way Will clings to him _settles_ , feels so right and so long overdue.

Will sobs when he pulls back, blood smeared on his mouth from Hannibal's teeth. He cups Hannibal's face with shaking hands and presses their foreheads together. "Thank you," he breathes, quiet with relief, and Hannibal blinks.

His vision shifts.

He sees his behavior through Will's eyes.

Sees himself, not a pinnacle of control, of careful restraint so that he doesn't frighten his abused mate, but rejection. Hannibal has been _rejecting_ Will, at every turn. Cast aside his desire for touch, only came to Will when he was begged to, like some twisted sense of obligation pulled him to Will's nest. Not someone who cares and is giving their loved one space, but a cold, detached Alpha who looked upon his mate and saw him damaged, saw him used.

Saw him as broken and has only tendered those wounds with words. Will is not a creature of words; he is one of action. Hannibal sees it all, and snarls at his own foolishness, his own blindness, to be so caught up in not _harming_ Will that he never gave thought to the fact that he was _hurting_ Will.

He wraps his fingers around Will's neck, tugs him until Will gasps, eyes flaring open. He kisses Will again, hungry now, the beast in him sensing the fissuring cracks in his walls, and when he pulls back, Will is slick and golden-eyed, and looks at him like Hannibal hung the moon in the sky.

He smiles, lets it soften his mouth, lets his words go low and his voice growl when he says, "Bare yourself to me, darling."

Will whimpers, with relief, with helpless desire. Hannibal lets him go and Will shoves himself upright, tugging his shirt over his head and pushing his clothes off him. Hannibal looks at Alana, finds her expression a mix of happiness and exasperation, a 'Took you long enough'. He casts her an apologetic smile, and tilts his head, but she shakes hers.

She and Will have had their time together. This is just for Hannibal and Will, right now. They need this.

Her eyes are dark, though – she shares the same voyeuristic proclivities Hannibal does, enchanted by the sight of her mates moving together. She bites her lower lip, her eyes on Will, and Hannibal turns when Will takes the last of his clothes off, baring himself completely. He is pale and fine, still skinnier than he had been, but Hannibal will cure that soon enough. He will feed Will to bursting, fill him everywhere he wants to be filled. His thighs shine with his slick and without his clothes, the scent of him is heavenly, and Hannibal's mouth waters.

Will pauses when he's naked, his lips parted around heavy gasps, his eyes wild. Still, he hesitates, and Hannibal hates that he does. How cruel he has been, unintentionally, but still so cruel, to ever make his mate think Hannibal doesn't want his touch.

He growls, and lunges for Will, tugs him down on the bed so that Hannibal can cover him as he has been aching to do since Will was found. Will whines, arching up against him, his cock smearing sticky-wet on Hannibal's sweater. Hannibal rears up, pulls it off along with his undershirt, and Will sits, pawing frantically at his suit pants to get him in a similar state of undress.

It is not graceful, nor very coordinated, but it's a passionate thing and when Will finally snarls, impatient and savage, and tugs at Hannibal's clothing hard enough to rip, Hannibal's entire body trembles with it. He pours himself over Will, kisses him fiercely and tugs at his lovely, sweat-damp hair. The scent of Will burns him, brands his innards and he needs, God how he needs Will. Now.

"Please," Will begs, breathless. "Please. Mount me." His voice shakes, like he's still, now, afraid of being denied, and his knees bend, bracketing Hannibal's hips, letting Hannibal's erection drag through the slick coating his thighs. Will claws at him, needy, his nails sharp.

Hannibal growls, incensed by his mate's desperate cries. He can't resist – he can't, he can't possibly deny Will now. He runs his hands down Will's thighs, pushes them up until Will's heels hook behind his back, and drags his fingers across Will's rim. Will is wet, soaking wet, dripping onto Hannibal's fingers and he growls, leans down and nuzzles Will's leaking bite mark.

"Ask me again," he says. Will whines, digs in with his heels, with his nails. "Just once more, beloved. Please."

" _Hannibal_ ," Will gasps, and turns his head, bites at Hannibal's neck lightly. His Voice is powerful, even though it might be fading now, and Hannibal feels it down to his core. " _Mount me_."

Hannibal breathes out, breathes in. Fills himself with Will's scent, tastes his sweat and his blood. He wraps his fingers around his cock, slick with Will, and pushes into him in a single, slow thrust. Will moans, deep in his chest, his hands flying down to Hannibal's hips and digging in with his nails, urging him in, deeper. Hannibal shivers, his eyes clenched tightly shut because he'd never, _ever_ thought he would get this feeling again. He would never mount an Omega again, never feel the tremble of them, never smell their slick, never taste their necks. But Will is here, he's here and he's whole and Hannibal is here with him, with Alana, his mates, his beautiful, savage mates, and he loves them so much he can barely breathe.

Will jerks his head, forces Hannibal to rise, and kisses him fiercely. Hannibal pushes in to the hilt, purring so loudly it vibrates them both, and Will slips his legs down, arches up into him, tries to get him deeper and it's so right, it's so right.

Hannibal kisses him and rolls his hips and Will's breath catches, his eyes shining when they pull apart. Hannibal runs his nose along Will's jaw, lets the burn of his stubble catch on his tender lips, drags Will's scent into his mouth and lets himself be consumed by it.

"Hannibal," Will breathes, nipping at his exposed neck, and Hannibal's spine is tense, is molten. He wants Will to bite him, needs to erase the bastardized influence of Abel Gideon's blood and give Will a mated Voice of his own. Will claws at him, just as savage and desperate, gasps and whines whenever Hannibal presses in deep. "Fuck, _yes_ , yes, just like that, _please_." Hannibal snarls, bows his head, pushes Will's thighs up to fold him in half, sating that age-old need in both of them to have the Omega pinned and helpless, angled to breed, covered by the weight of his Alpha.

Will clenches up around him, lit on fire under Hannibal's touches, fanned into a roaring flame under his heat and Hannibal forgot how _good_ Will felt, hadn't allowed himself to remember the slick tightness of him, the ache in his gut that yearns to plug Will full. The feeling of his powerful muscles, evolved and bred to lock around a knot and hold it tightly, to coax and drag every ounce of seed from Hannibal once he's ready to give it. He'd let the memories fade and now they all come roaring back from that blackened, ruined place behind Will's walls, flood him like a tidal wave. He sinks in and bites Will again, snarling.

And then Will bites him back, tears through the meat of his shoulder with a savage snarl and locks up suddenly, his stomach sinking in and his cock twitching, wetting the place where their stomachs are pressed tight together.

Hannibal breathes out, going still. Every muscle in him, every instinct is screaming to keep fucking Will, to knot him and fill him, _breed him_ , but he forces himself to stop. Though it aches, outrage and feral hunger still howling in his chest, he pushes himself upright and pulls out, gasping at the feeling of Will's slick following his cock.

Will whimpers, his eyes flashing. He moves lethargically, reaching for Hannibal, and Hannibal shakes his head, catches his hand and kisses his palm. He doesn't apologize, though he wants to, for his lack of control, but there's a lapse and then there's a disastrous lapse, and they can't afford for Hannibal to be anything less than careful.

"Hannibal," he whispers, eyes wide. "Please."

Hannibal shakes his head again, nuzzling Will's wrist. "I made a promise, my love," he says, though it's soft and aching. Even now, it is all he can do not to push between Will's thighs again, or roll him onto his belly and breed him properly. But he has to resist. For now. Until Hobbs is dead.

He looks to one side, sees Alana absently touching herself, her dress rucked up and her pantyhose and underwear around her knees. She meets his eyes and he reaches for her, pulls her close and sits her on Will's knees, just like Will did for him, the other night in his nest.

He guides her down to the mess Will made and she smiles at him, licking lightly at his dirty stomach. Will's expression softens, distracted, and Hannibal flattens his hands on Alana's back, makes her arch and bare her wet, pink center. He bows down and licks into her, tonguing at her clit when she gasps and trembles under his hands.

Will moans, weakly, oversensitive as Alana licks and sucks at him. Hannibal growls, alive with the scents of both his mates, the taste of them. He pulls one hand back and works two fingers into Alana, pushing down to where she's rough and sensitive and licks at her clit harshly, until she gives a soft, shaken groan, tightening around his fingers and coming with a soft gasp against Will's hip.

Hannibal parts from her with one last  lick, and sucks his fingers clean, immensely proud at the glaze in his mates' eyes. He prowls over Will again, shares Alana's taste with him and he moans weakly, but with renewed vigor, desperately arching up to entice Hannibal to mount him again.

Hannibal kisses down his jaw, licks over the sluggishly leaking bite, and slides his hand between Will's soft, trembling thighs. Will is open, soaked to the core, and Hannibal pushes in with two fingers, his teeth in Will's neck so he can only lie there, panting and moaning as Hannibal fucks him.

"Lift your hips for me, darling," Hannibal growls, and Will obeys with a helpless, wanton sound, clutching at Hannibal with one hand, Alana with the other, his hand still in her hair as she slides to his side and bites down on one of his nipples. Her hand reaches to Will's cock, stroking it until it's blushing red and hard again, and Will is trembling, overstretched, pulled thin and tight between the two of them as they work him slowly to another orgasm.

Hannibal snarls, works in a third finger, stretching Will wide to mimic a knot. Will's ache feels like his own; he wants Hannibal's knot, wants to spread and submit and Hannibal will let him – he will. Soon, after Hobbs is gone and not even his shadow clings to any of them.

Hannibal bites Will again; he can't stop doing it, and Will is letting him, eagerly accepting every sharp lance of pain, every suck-kiss, every bruise. He is a sweaty, red mass of desire and want, caught between Hannibal and Alana, helpless and devoured. If there is any lingering darkness from his time away, Hannibal cannot see it.

"Mm, fuck, _fuck_." Will goes still with a quiet hiss, turns his head and bites Hannibal's injured shoulder again, sucking this time, reopening the wound so they're both smeared with blood and Hannibal snarls, his cock aching as Will tightens around his fingers, as he comes and Alana smiles, purring, and strokes him through it.

Hannibal pulls back from Will's neck, kisses him deeply, and pulls his fingers out of Will, wrapping them around his cock instead. He strokes himself tightly, no room for teasing, no patience in him to go slow. Will stares up at him with wide golden eyes, reaches out, pets and whines against his chest.

Hannibal stiffens, dips his hips and mutters a soft warning to Alana, so that she can move out of the way in time for Hannibal to come all over Will's cock, his flat stomach, between his thighs. He paints Will in stark white, his orgasm coming at him in long, deep waves from the base of his neck to the bottom of his spine.

He collapses, just enough wherewithal to roll to his side so he doesn't crush either of his mates. Alana rises, pulling off her dress and the rest of her clothes, and slides up to Will's other side, pulling his attention away from Hannibal as they kiss, and Alana shares the taste of Hannibal's blood.

"That was amazing," she whispers.

Will is smiling, though his eyes are dark. He runs a hand through his hair, then smears his palm through the mess Hannibal made on him. He breathes out, eyes closing, and tilts his head up to the ceiling. "Yeah," he murmurs. "It was."

 

 

Hannibal wakes to the sound of the chain being unlatched. He is upright immediately, bolting to his feet, and freezes when he sees Will at the door, dressed, trying to sneak his way out.

Will turns to him, a challenging, animal look to him. His neck is raw and bruised from Hannibal's bite, he still stinks of Hannibal's scent – clearly wherever he's going, whatever he's about to do, it doesn't require a shower.

Will lifts his chin. Hannibal's throat is hoarse, his neck changing to accommodate the growth that gives him his Voice from Will's blood, and when he speaks, he rasps; "Hobbs?"

Will's eyes narrow. "If that's what it fucking takes," he replies sharply. "I'm not stupid, Hannibal. If his death is what you need to finally mount me _properly_ -."

"Will," Hannibal says, and steps forward, and reaches for him. Will snaps his teeth together, does not flinch, but turns and stands straight. He looks like he did when Hannibal first saw him in his cell, half out of his mind with heat, near-feral with the desire to kill.

Will's hand snaps out, flattens on Hannibal's bare shoulder, digs in around his own wound. Hannibal winces. "Stay here," he says, Voice thrumming, powerful. Hannibal shudders, his stomach clenching. "You will not follow me, you will not try to stop me. You will let me go, just like you let me go the first time."

He lets go, and turns away.

The sharp, angry knot in Hannibal's chest grows claws. His creature stirs from its rest and snarls. Because there is something wrong about what Will has said, and it gives him power to fight his Voice, gives him the strength to rend apart the veneer of his control and lunge for Will, pressing him against the door. Will goes tense, snarling, and Hannibal puts his teeth to Will's ear.

He has his own Voice now;

"You are mine," he snarls, and Will sucks in a breath, but doesn't protest, because he knows, he _knows_ that. "And I may have let you leave, but don't think for a _second_ that I ever let you go." His hands are tight on Will's hips, and grab harder, digging into the sharp jut of bone. Will shivers, lets out a rough noise.

"I will never let you go, Will," he finishes, and licks over Will's exposed neck, just to feel him tremble. "You have until sunrise. And then I am coming for you. And I _will_ come." Will turns his head, seeking, and Hannibal lets him go so he can turn fully. Will's eyes are wide, dark, wet, his lips parted, and his fingers shake when he raises them and gently drags his knuckles down Hannibal's cheekbone.

There passes between them some flash, some lightning strike of understanding. Too long blind, they wince in the sudden light, and Will swallows and lifts his chin and pulls Hannibal down into a kiss.

"I love you," he breathes, and it is the first time he's said it to Hannibal since he returned, and Hannibal's heart goes still, and then gallops ahead of him. Not 'I miss you', not 'I need you'. _Love_. Will pulls back, and opens the door. "I'll see you soon. Don't keep me waiting."

"Never again, my love," Hannibal replies. "Happy hunting."

 

 

The moment dawn crests the horizon, Hannibal rouses Alana and tells her what has happened. She is shocked, outraged that Hannibal let Will go. They shower and dress quickly and leave, getting into the car. Apparently Will went on foot.

"If anything happens to him," she growls.

"Nothing will," he replies, and of this he is sure. Will is a predator, a fighter. He was taken by surprise once and he will not let it happen again. His anger sharpens him – rage makes Alphas stupid but it makes Omegas cunning, makes them so clever that God had to give them a natural sweetness to counterbalance it.

They get to the Hobbs house. Nothing is different, though there is a car in the driveway now – a large truck, something that could easily have a trailer attached to it. Hannibal's upper lip wrinkles and he pauses as they cross the road and the scent of the house hits him.

It is _doused_ in blood. So strong that even his stomach turns. He reaches for Alana's hand, stopping her, and lifts his chin, scenting the air, desperately trying to pick out Will's scent amidst it all. The hour is too early for anyone to be out and about, and he hears no screams from inside, no loud snarls or howls.

His gut feels heavy with worry, and he squeezes her hand.

Then, the front door opens, revealing Hobbs. Hannibal recognizes him immediately, even if the scent of him wasn't so familiar already. The Alpha is limping, clutching his bleeding flank and neck. He lifts his eyes, widening at the sight of them, but before he can cry out for help – and he will certainly get no help here – a shadow moves behind him and hauls him back inside, and the door slams shut.

Alana and Hannibal are moving without thought, running up to the front door and opening it swiftly, though they remain quiet. There is an impressive smear of blood along the innards of the house, from the front door, around the back of a couch, to a room that from a glance looks like a kitchen. Hannibal knows Will took him there.

He goes to the kitchen, Alana close behind, and they stop at the sound of a hard _snap_ , a low, choking sound that Hannibal intimately recognizes as someone gagging on their own blood. They reach the threshold, and there is Will, crouched over Hobbs' body. He has torn the man's neck open, blood coats his jaws, his hair, his hands. Slicks his clothes to his body as he kneels in the pool of blood and shreds his claws through the man's belly.

He rips him open with a savage snarl, pulls out a slippery chunk of liver – not even the whole thing, just a handful – and bites into it, eating it as Hobbs stares up at him with glassy eyes. The Alpha gags, blood in his mouth, and Will snarls again, reaching into his open stomach, up, to massage his heart.

"Stay with me, Alpha," he croons, in a way that is not sweet at all. "I want you alive for this."

Hannibal touches Alana's arm, holding her back though he doesn't think she has any intention to stop Will. They watch. They stand and they watch as Will massages Hobbs' heart, keeps it beating, as his other hand slowly peels chunks from the man's shoulders, from his stomach. He eats it all, another bite, another, and if he cares about the taste he doesn't show it.

Finally, there is no more blood to pump, and Hobbs stutters and dies with a final gurgle. But Will is not satisfied. He growls and rips Hobbs' heart from his body, tearing into it, and Hannibal cannot decide on a single emotion, witnessing that:

There is pride. Fierce, overwhelming pride at seeing Will rip apart his abuser. There is satisfaction, knowing that he is dead. There is desire, carnal and quaking, seeing Will covered in blood and fresh from a kill. Hannibal's fingers curl, imagining the wetness of Hobbs' blood in Will's hair, if he were to wrap his knuckles in it. If he were to taste Will's mouth and drink him down. Will is wet for him without help, but the idea of fucking through blood on his thighs to mount him is an enticing one that makes his teeth itch.

Will eats, and eats, while his mates stand guard and watch. He eats the heart, eats Hobbs' liver piece by piece, devours his kidneys, shreds his intestines. Eats his thighs and his shoulders and strips the meat from his arms.

Finally, there is nothing left to the carcass but blood and viscera and his blank, staring eyes. Will swallows, and collapses on his knees, his hands pressed against Hobbs' ribs. He coughs, and gags – he ate too much, too much raw, enough to make himself sick.

That is when Hannibal goes to him. He crouches down and pets through Will's hair, flattens his hand over the nape of his neck to soothe his trembling. Will tilts his head, seeking, and Hannibal cups his face and lifts him until their eyes meet.

He smiles. "Beautiful," he breathes.

Will shudders, and hangs his head. Looks to Alana, who is crouched on Hobbs' other side, free of the bloodstain. "I'm sorry I -." He coughs, wipes the back of his slick hand over his mouth. "I didn't save any for you."

Alana smiles and shakes her head. "He wasn't worth sharing," she replies. Will's lashes lower – even they are thick with blood – and he trembles.

"Was the girl here?" Hannibal asks.

Will shakes his head. "No," he replies. "She's…she's not here. The baby, either. They're both gone. I tried to get him to tell me where but -."

Hannibal understands. Blood-rage is a hard thing to quell.

"We can leave Jack to that," he murmurs. He stands and shrugs off his coat, laying it over Will's trembling body to hide as much of the blood as he can. "We must clean the space of your DNA and leave as soon as possible."

Will huffs a tired, hysterical laugh. He heaves again, and winces. A sob escapes. "There's too much," he whispers, and shakes his head. "There's too much, it's everywhere, I -."

"Darling," Hannibal murmurs and kneels down again. He takes Will's face in his hands and kisses him, chastely. "Trust me. Do you trust me?"

Will nods. "Of course I do."

Hannibal smiles. "Then let me take care of this." He looks to Alana. "Take him back to the hotel and clean him up. I will be there shortly."

Alana nods, and stands. Will whines, clearly not wanting to go, but he doesn't fight it when Hannibal purrs, pets over his neck, and coaxes him to stand. They embrace, Hannibal's coat acting as a barrier so he doesn't get too much blood on him, and then Alana takes Will's hand and they leave the house.

Hannibal waits until the front door closes, and then he eyes Hobbs' body distastefully. The Alpha is staring up at him, wide, as though in askance. Like Hannibal would get it, as an Alpha. Like he could empathize.

Hannibal growls, and shows his teeth to the corpse. Then, he sets to work.

 

 

The day is growing dark by the time Hannibal has finished cleaning. Mindful of the ticking clock, he moves swiftly, clearing the hallway first and wiping the door handle of their fingerprints. Hobbs has a large furnace in his basement – Hannibal doesn't want to think about what he uses it for, though there is a stench around it that implies this is not the first time it has been used for this purpose – and Hannibal hauls his body into it and lights it, letting it burn to a crisp.

He cleans the kitchen to a sparkling sheen, absent any trace of scent even to his sensitive nose. There is no stain of blood overlooked, no place Will might have touched that he does not wipe down and clean. He is overwhelmingly thorough, and knows that when Jack and the FBI do come, they will find nothing but a corpse in a furnace, all useable DNA except that used to identify Hobbs stripped away.

He is readying to leave when he hears the front door open, the hiccupping cough of a baby, followed by a small cry. "Daddy?" It's a young voice, female, and Hannibal growls inwardly, and prowls out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

He sees Abigail Hobbs before she sees him. Sees her long, dark hair, her round face and bright blue eyes. Her slender, pale form. Sees the baby in her arms, fat and healthy and blinking at Hannibal with pretty, light eyes.

The baby burbles, and Abigail freezes when she sees him, her eyes wide. She clutches the baby tightly to her chest and her scent grows very sharp in a sudden spike of fear.

Hannibal smiles at her. "Good afternoon, Abigail," he purrs, and gestures to the couch. "Would you like to have a seat?"

She blinks at him, and looks to the door. Contemplates running, he can see it.

He steps forward, predatory and prowling, and his smile widens. "I have no intention of harming you," he says, though he isn't sure that's quite true. "But I think you and I could benefit from a good heart to heart. Please, sit down."

She swallows, her eyes brightening with fearful tears. "Who are you?" she demands. "Where's my father?"

"Your father will not be troubling us for quite some time," he replies smoothly. He has washed his hands and face, but there is blood on his clothes. He unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt that stick out from beneath his sweater, and pushes them up to his elbows, and her eyes widen. She doesn't move, and he sighs. "Now, Abigail, I like to think of myself as a patient man, but it's been a long five years, and I don't really have time to humor you. I have been asked not to harm you but I will not remain so kind if you prove disobedient."

Her eyes flash, and darken with understanding. "You're Will's mate," she whispers.

Hannibal's smile shows his teeth. "That I am. Now, would you like to sit?"

She swallows, and nods, going to the ugly green couch in the middle of the living room. She sits, clutching the baby tightly to her, and Hannibal walks until he is in front of her. He crouches down, unwilling to leave any fiber or trace on the furniture, and regards her with his head tilted.

"I never hurt Will," Abigail says, her teary eyes leaking, finally. There is a bruise on her neck, and a scar from an old, old bite.

Hannibal frowns, and stifles the snarl of irritation he wants to let out. "The police are coming here," he says. "They know what you and your father did. Leaving survivors wasn't very smart, Abigail."

She sobs, biting her lower lip. Her hair is swept in a side braid and she tugs at it anxiously.

"Now, don't get me wrong, I am overjoyed that you did." Hannibal smiles at her, and straightens. "If Will had been found dead, I would not be nearly as pleasant as I am. It's been a harrowing and stressful time for me and my wife – not to mention the atrocities Will suffered through with your family. So, I will say this very plainly."

He slides his hands into his pockets, and fixes her with a dark look, so heavy she flinches from it and the baby gives a little hiccupping shriek, fat arms flailing against her chest.

"The police will be here tomorrow, and you will wait here for them. You will let them take you, and this child, and you will allow yourself to be prosecuted to the full extent of the law." He steps close to her, watches her shrink in, and he has no delight in intimidating a child, but she is not a child, not anymore, and Hannibal has no room for mercy when it comes to anyone with Hobbs' bloodline. "I am friends with the lead investigator. If you tell him I was here, and if you try to run, my mates and I will find you. Of that, you can be absolutely certain."

She sobs, but nods. Good. Hannibal is in no mood to argue.

"The court may be lenient. If you cooperate, my mates and I will argue in your defense."

She looks up, eyes wide. "Really?"

Hannibal nods. "Will is the one who argued for your life," he murmurs, and looks down at the child. "If it were up to me, we would not be having this conversation. So, again, if you cooperate, and you say you have never seen me before, and you play along, I can make sure they put you somewhere comfortable."

She frowns, obviously wary, but in no position to argue.

Hannibal tilts his head. "Are we in agreement?"

Abigail nods, and tugs at her braid again. Hannibal nods back, and stands fully, and goes to leave.

"Wait!" Abigail stands, and Hannibal turns to regard her. She is still crying, gently holding the baby, and she bites her lip and shakes her head. "I really never meant -. My father, he, he was sick. He wasn't right in the head. I didn't know what to do so I just -. I never hurt Will. I tried to make it okay, for him and the rest of them."

Hannibal smiles. It is not a kind smile. He almost believes her. "Your defense needs some work," he says. He sees, in the bag she placed by the door, a scarf sticking out. Probably to hide her scars and bruises. He takes it and uses it to open the door, before he throws it to her, and she catches it on instinct. Her scent will wipe his away.

"Good luck, Abigail," he calls to her. He pulls his sleeves down to hide the blood around his wrists, and shrugs off his sweater, baring an unstained red button-down beneath it. "I sincerely hope, for your sake, that you are less of a coward than your father was."

With that, he leaves, the door hanging open behind him. He folds his sweater and squints up at the darkening sky. He spent far longer than he'd meant to, here, but that is no matter. It's done, and with a fine cherry on top.

He walks towards the hotel, briskly, for Will and Alana are waiting for him. The blood-high is an archaic stereotype, passed down from less evolved times when Alphas would fight and kill each other for the right to mate with their chosen Omega. It is a base and rude instinct, but he feels it nonetheless. This was not his kill, but it is a victory he shares with his mates, and he thinks of Will, thinks he is feeling it too, flushed and trembling and soaked with blood. He imagines Alana bathing him, wiping all traces away. Imagines Will mounting her and fucking her again and again while they wait for Hannibal to claim them both.

His blood is rushing, warm in his head. It feels like rut, it might be rut, but it doesn't matter because all that is in his mind is the desire to _conquer_. To take, to shove Will to his belly, haul him to his knees so that when Hannibal mounts him, he will fuck deep, he will fill Will where he aches, desperately, cavernous and open for Hannibal's seed and his knot. He will pierce Will's neck, sate himself with his mate's slick and his blood. He will mount Will until it hurts to knot him, and then take Alana by the hair and cover her as well.

His creature snaps its teeth, howls, _Take them both. Worthy mates. Beautiful, beloved, mine, mine_ -.

He is almost sprinting by the time he makes it back to the hotel, quivering with anticipation. He gets to the door and unlocks it, throwing it open, finds Alana and Will curled up on the big bed – too big, but enough space for him. They look up at him, and Will's nostrils flare, his eyes flashing gold because he can probably smell Hannibal's desire, that same blood-high in his own body. He rises from where he was, cheek to Alana's chest, both of them dressed in the complimentary hotel bathrooms.

Hannibal snarls, and throws his sweater to the side, and begins to unbutton his shirt.

"Get on your hands and knees, darling," he commands, his eyes on Will.

Will smiles, sharp and rumbling. "Welcome back," he purrs. "I missed you."

Hannibal growls at him, low and rough, and Will shivers. He is eager, he is slick. Alana has a flush on her face that darkens when Hannibal looks at her, and she stands as well, shedding her robe. They are both beautiful, and eager for him, and ready.

And he has a promise to keep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait! I had massive anxiety about this chapter and I really wanted to do it justice. I hope you like it!

His mates are beautiful, pale and bared for him, a feast of flesh for his eyes and a broad canvass he wants to mark with his teeth, his desperate hands. When they are all naked, Hannibal pulls Will to him, Will's back to his chest, and nods to Alana, directing her to lay on her back in the middle of the bed, both of them standing just shy of the edge. She is beautiful, a strong and fierce woman. Hannibal's eyes rake greedily over her, from her blushing cheeks, the thick waves of her damp hair, her breasts as her chest heaves in a ragged inhale. The soft slope of her stomach and her parted thighs. He can see, between her legs, a smear of Will's come, and he growls, thinking of Will, high on the victory of a kill and a well-earned meal. Thinks of him mounting her, throwing her to the bed with the fevered passion of a man desperate to cement his conquest in the feral carnality of fucking a willing, worthy mate.

It is a feeling he has now, burning in the back of his eyes, the base of his neck, his skull aflame. Will trembles in his arms, breathing deep and open-mouthed, and he whimpers, knees buckling as Hannibal noses at the sensitive pressure point on the back of his neck.

"Hannibal," he whispers, weak and wanting. "Hannibal, _please_."

Hannibal smiles, parts his jaws and bites, arms wrapped tight around Will as he trembles. "I will never deny you again," he promises, and he means it. Though it was not Will's duty to prove himself, though it was not Will's desires that stayed his hand, he has still risen to each of Hannibal's conditions with all the savage dedication of his breed. He has hunted for Hannibal, killed for him, begged for him in every touch, every kiss, every wordless whine and now Hannibal must give him everything, everything, until the last five years have faded to nothing but distant memory.

He can do it. He will.

He wraps a hand in Will's hair and pushes him forward, following and pressing Will down so he's on his hands and knees between Alana's thighs. Will sags immediately, leaning down and kissing the soft, small patch of pubic hair. Alana shivers, biting her lower lip, and her hands join Hannibal's in Will's hair, tugging gently.

Hannibal sighs, so immensely taken with the feeling of Will pinned beneath him, as Hannibal kneels behind him on the bed and pushes Will's knees apart. It's everything he's ever wanted – Will, on his elbows and knees, arching up so desperately against his chest. Alana, above them, gazing down with such fierce love. The three of them, all together again, _finally_ , with nothing standing in the way of doing what they desire.

He nuzzles Will's hair, smiling when Alana pets over his cheek, and then she gasps, closing her eyes and arching up as Will bows his head, licks ravenously at her wet, pink flesh. His hands curl around her thighs, tugging her to a better position on the bed, her hair haloed around her flushed face as he licks into her, soaking his tongue in her slick and his come.

Hannibal growls, his mouth flooded with saliva at the scent of her, instinct commanding that he sink into her and use her graciously-given body for his own pleasure. His cock aches, hard, rutting against the small of Will's back, using all his weight and strength to keep Will pinned, his thighs shaking from holding them both up.

Alana gasps, lashes fluttering when Will finds her clit and creates a seal with his blush-red lips, sucking gently but firmly at the sensitive point. He doesn't touch her, doesn't try to get inside her, his jaw flexing and his throat tensed up to keep him in place as he sucks and licks over her clit, until she starts to shake.

Hannibal smiles, shows teeth, and wraps his arm beneath Will's, thumb flattening to his lower lip and then down, through the leaking slick between her legs. He pushes inside with one finger, crooking up, putting pressure behind Will's tongue. His other hand slides down Will's chest, cups his belly, finds it swollen and heavy from consuming so much of Hobbs. It conjures in him a visceral feeling, knowing that Will is stuffed full of his kill, well-fed and sated, because of Hannibal. Hannibal is the one who first identified them. Hannibal is the one who brought him here. It is because of Hannibal that they are able to celebrate this at all.

He lowers his mouth to Will's ear, bites at the delicate skin beneath, tastes Will's sweat and Alana's lipstick smeared there. Snarls; "You make her feel so good, Will."

Will whimpers, flattening his tongue, showing his teeth as he drags them down to Hannibal's hand. He sucks wetly at Hannibal's knuckles, moans when Alana tugs on his hair and pulls his attention back to her.

Hannibal smiles, and lifts his head, meets her eyes. "Feeling greedy, my love?"

She gasps, eyes flaring wide as Will sucks at her again. " _Yes_ ," she replies, simply. Hannibal can sympathize.

He growls, and rears up, his eyes directed to Will's back. Will's spine flexes, like Hannibal's gaze is a physical thing, lifting up as Hannibal flattens his free hand on Will's hip, thumb dug into the flesh of his ass, pulling him apart to bare his slick, pink hole.

He snarls, and turns his hand, pushing in with two fingers.

Will trembles, a full-body thing, and whines, loudly. He lets go of one of Alana's thighs and reaches back, tugging, nails on Hannibal's forearm, wanting him deeper. Hannibal obeys the silent command, thrusting deep into his Omega as Will writhes beneath him, panting against Alana's flesh.

"Ah, Will, _fuck_!" Alana's thighs pull together, pressed tight to either side of Will's head, and she arches and rolls as she comes, releasing a high-pitched moan as Will releases her clit, knowing she's too sensitive immediately after, and laps instead at the wetness leaking from her around Hannibal's finger. He groans at the taste of her, pushing his tongue in deep, and Hannibal slides his finger out, cupping Will's throat instead to feel how he swallows down her taste.

Alana is shining, slick with sweat, and tugs on Will's hair, pushing his face between her legs with more force as he licks deep into her. Will is moaning, the hand still on her thigh white-knuckled and turning her skin pink. He growls, and lifts his head, gasping when she lets him. His chin and cheeks are shining with her slick and he moans when Hannibal presses deep with his fingers, curling them down to touch the place inside Will that is most sensitive.

Hannibal smiles, and leans down to nuzzle Will's shoulder. "How does she taste, darling?"

Will gasps, and Hannibal lifts his head to see she has moved, close enough now underneath them that she can wrap a hand around Will's cock. The sound of her stroking him is obscenely loud beneath their heavy breaths.

Will turns his head, growling, his eyes a brilliant gold when he meets Hannibal's gaze. "Come see," he says, and Hannibal smiles, leaning down and cupping Will's chin, turning him and kissing him passionately. The taste of Alana lingers, coating his tongue and his lips, salty-sweet and so fucking good. It is a particular pleasure, tasting your mate's come and knowing you were the one to conjure it.

Will snarls, bites down savagely on Hannibal's lower lip, hard enough to make him jerk back on instinct with a low growl, nails tightening in Will's jaw. "Mount me," he demands, no hesitance, nothing more than basic desire to feel Hannibal inside him. "Give me your fucking knot."

Hannibal shivers, drives his fingers deep and pulls them out, over-curling them so his nails and knuckles pull at Will's sensitive rim. Will's eyes flash, darken, all pupil now with only a thin ring of gold around them, and he kisses Will again.

Alana moves out from beneath Will, still panting heavily, her eyes dark, and Hannibal snarls, grabs at Will and throws him onto his belly on the bed. Will grabs the sheets, a soft, eager sound falling from him as Hannibal prowls over him and pins him down, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other digging tightly into his hip.

"On your knees," he commands, Voice thrumming through the words and Will whimpers, rising up, chest down. He's beautiful like this, perfectly angled to get Hannibal as deep inside him as he can, the mounting position ingrained in every Omega and Alpha to make sure ownership and breeding is secured.

It has all come to this: Will, bowing for him, panting and whimpering with need, slick to his knees, his belly full of his kill and, soon, Hannibal. Hannibal's hands planted harshly on his flesh, ensuring his Omega cannot escape him, even if he wanted to.

Alana reaches beneath Will, a smile on her face, and kisses his pink cheek as she strokes his cock, and Hannibal growls, closes his eyes, bows his head. His hips rut forward, finding Will as easily as chemistry, as gravity and instinct, and he pushes inside.

Will howls, clawing at the sheets, a fractured cry of relief as Alana cups his cock and strokes him through his orgasm. He is writhing, bucking, forcing Hannibal deeper and making him snarl, sinking his teeth into Will's nape. Hobbling him, as instinct demands: he has hunted this Omega, chased him down, and will mount him, will breed him in the high of their shared victory. Even if Will cannot conceive, Hannibal's creature does not care.

It howls, and screams, _Take him, he's yours, take him._

And he is. The muscles in Will's body tense up around him, contracting tightly. The scent of him is soaked with Alana and Hannibal, the taste of her on his lips, the flush of him is his blood aching to soak Hannibal's teeth and tongue. He is theirs; a willing sacrifice to the altar of their savagery, he brings offerings to them and they kill and consume and reward him with loving touches and feral snarls.

Alana kisses Will, and then Hannibal, moaning softly when one of Will's hands reaches between her legs, sinking two fingers into where she's wet and sensitive. Hannibal lets him move only enough for him to pillow his face on her pale thigh, and she pets through his hair and shivers as he uses his fingers.

Hannibal snarls, rakes his nails down Will's flanks, to his hips, holding him fast as he starts up a brutal, desperate rhythm. There is no resistance in him anymore, there shouldn't have been from the start. He bites Will again, severs skin as Will cries out, aching from his chest. His hips lift, wanting more, wanting it deeper, and Hannibal obeys him, cannot resist, couldn’t stop himself if he tried.

Alana trembles, tightening, her thighs tensed and shaking as Will works her to another orgasm and it is her cry, his soft, weak sound of relief, that pushes Hannibal over the edge. He goes still, planted deep in Will, and growls.

Will gasps, his eyes widening, and he takes his fingers out of Alana and claws desperately at Hannibal's hip. "Yes," he says, whispers, begging; "Please. _Please_ , please, give it to me."

Hannibal's stomach tenses up, his hips flexing with the need to rut his cock deep into Will. He's so wet, leaking around Hannibal's cock and Hannibal's lip curls back, showing his teeth. He wants to plug Will, fill him to bursting, wants Will's scent soaked with him inside and out.

Alana adds her hand to Will's, encouraging Hannibal to stay inside him, and it's been so _long_. It's been so long since he knotted someone, the force of it is almost painful. His knot swells, no going back now, locked tight behind Will's rim so he cannot pull out.

Will lets out a weak, needy noise. "Please, Hannibal," he whines, plaintive, and Hannibal chest clenches so harshly, it aches worse than his knot.

He pets over Will's flanks, holds him tightly, and lets go, flooding Will with his seed. Will sags, whimpering in relief, his eyes falling closed. Hannibal prowls over him, nuzzles him, kisses him fiercely when Will turns his head. He forces Will onto his belly, and Alana moves to make room, gathering blankets and throwing them over the three of them. She presses tightly to their sides as Hannibal shivers, another thick spurt of come coating Will's insides, pooling in his body.

Will is weak with relief, his scent sharp with joy. He is beautiful, so lovely, and Hannibal trembles, and lifts his head, drawing Alana into a kiss as she settles and sighs, petting through his hair.

The scent of their happiness coats Hannibal's tongue like honey, such a sweet, satisfying feeling, being finally allowed to bask in his mates' pleasure and knowing he was the one to create it. In his chest, his creature is finally purring, rubbing up against the flank of Will's and Alana's own monsters. He wraps an arm around her, pulling her to them, and the air is warm and damp beneath the blankets, the three of them cocooned, free of the rest of the world.

Will moans weakly, ass spasming as Hannibal comes in him again, his knot so thick and hard that nothing leaks out, his come pooling around his cock and mixing with Will's slick. Hannibal wraps his thighs on the outside of Will's, hemming him in as instinct demands, the arm not around Alana threading beneath Will's neck and holding him tightly.

Alana smiles at the both of them, her eyes bright and her expression satisfied. "My boys," she says, and Hannibal huffs a laugh – she's the youngest of all of them, but it seems fitting nonetheless. She pushes Hannibal's sweat-soaked hair from his forehead and kisses him, then Will. "I've missed you."

Will's lips twitch in a smile, and his eyes open. He nuzzles her shoulder as Hannibal kisses her, and then they trade places. He clenches up around Hannibal, earning a low growl and a swift nip to his ear.

"Careful, darling," he warns playfully.

Will laughs, really laughs, and it's the most beautiful sound Hannibal has ever heard.

 

 

Hannibal's knot, so long denied, lasts almost thirty minutes, and when he parts from Will, the sight of Will's tender, red rim spilling so much slick and come makes him want to mount Will all over again. But the sky is dark outside, and they must be home when Jack comes for Abigail and the baby.

They shower and dress, pack their things, check out of the hotel and return the rental car. Hannibal is pleased to note that the car bears no sign of blood, nor anything untoward – Alana must have cleaned it. They share a smile and a kiss after returning the car, and board their plane, headed home. By the time they arrive it is almost dawn in Baltimore, and exhaustion has begun to set it.

They all collapse together in Will's nest, too tired for anything more than kisses and light touches. Hannibal falls asleep with Alana in his arms, Will pressed up to her back, their foreheads touching over her thick hair.

Hannibal rises a few hours later, practically overflowing with giddy happiness, and starts to prepare breakfast. By the time coffee is done and he has started on the second omelet, Will and Alana appear, flushed from the heat of Will's nest, bright-eyed and smiling widely.

Hannibal returns it, drawing them both in for a kiss, and he pours their coffee and returns to the task of making food.

Then, his phone rings.

"I'll get it," Alana says, and rises to fetch his phone from his coat. "It's Jack!" she calls, and then Hannibal hears her answer.

He plates an omelet for Will and sets it in front of him on the bar stool, a hand in Will's hair and a kiss to his forehead. Will smiles at him, happy and sweet, the scent of a pleased Omega permeating the room over the scent of eggs, cheese, and ham.

Alana returns, Hannibal's phone to her ear, a frown on her face. Hannibal sets her plate down and then begins to eat from his own. She is not giving anything away from the conversation, just noncommittal hums and 'Of course's. Will watches her carefully between bites.

Then, the call ends, and she sits. "Abigail turned herself in," she says.

Will's brows rise, and he tilts his head. "Really?"

She nods. "Jack said he went to Minnesota to find that the local police already had her in custody. The baby, too. Apparently she's confessed to everything."

Will hums, his eyes dark, and then he looks at Hannibal. His eyes narrow. "Interesting."

Hannibal smiles, unrepentant. "She came to the house while I was cleaning it," he says with a cavalier shrug. "We exchanged words."

Will tilts his head. "What did you do?"

"I told her that I would not harm her, or the baby, because you asked me not to," Hannibal replies plainly. "I told her that if she made it easy for the FBI to find her, and played along, we would argue in her defense and see that she did not suffer too harshly for the actions of her father." He pauses, and sighs, shaking his head. "Too many people have suffered because of him."

Alana makes a soft noise, more confused than unhappy. "And she agreed?"

"Of course she did," Will murmurs. "She's smart. She knows how to play the game."

"And what if she's acquitted?" Alana demands.

Hannibal smiles. "I told her that if she caused any trouble, we would all hunt her down and kill her," he says simply. Not in so many words, but the implication was there.

Will swallows. "And…what about the baby?"

Alana sighs and shakes her head. "He'll probably be turned over to the state," she says, like she's testing the words. "I don't think Gregory had any family. No one's showed up. And the Hobbses aren't exactly going to come forward and claim him."

Will frowns, huffs an aggravated breath, and stabs his next bite with a little more vehemence than necessary. "It's not right," he says. Hannibal tenses; this is the subject he feared. If Will's maternal instincts are too strong, he will not be convinced that letting the child go is what's best. "He should go to someone who will love him."

Hannibal tilts his head, expects Will to suggest they take the baby, or at least try to. He's not sure Jack would allow it, let alone Child Services. "Will…"

Will's eyes snap to him, and darken, flashing with understanding. "I don't mean me," he says, and looks to Alana like he needs to convince them both. "I never said we should take him."

"You were responsible for those Omegas," Alana says kindly. "It's natural to be invested in the baby's fate."

Will looks at her, his brow furrowed, before his expression clears and he sighs. His upper lip twitches. "I don't want a baby that isn't mine," he says sharply. Alana blinks at him, but Hannibal smiles; it's an instinct stereotypical of Alphas, to reject the offspring of another mating. Omegas, less so, but it pleases him nonetheless. "He isn't yours, or Hannibal's. But that doesn't mean we should just throw him to the foster system either."

"Young children have a much higher chance of being adopted," Hannibal suggests. "I doubt he would linger long."

Will huffs. "Still."

Alana's phone rings, then, and she rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath that she's behaving like a damn yo-yo, and rises to get her phone. She stays in the hallway for the conversation, and when she returns, she is smiling.

"That was Jack again," she says. "He wants me to do a psychological evaluation on Charlie." Hannibal frowns, and tilts his head. "Charlie and Rosanna offered to take the baby; they want to measure him for fitness."

Hannibal blinks. It had, somehow, never occurred to him that Charlie and Rosanna would want a stake in the child's future. He isn't sure it would be allowed, but he thinks of Charlie, and Rosanna, and their shared history, and wonders if it's possible. Perhaps they can claim that the child is biologically Charlie's. He's not sure.

He looks to Will, and sees him smiling. "Good."

Alana returns it, and kisses Will's hair. "Jack wants me there as soon as possible," she says, and Hannibal nods. It would be unfair to keep Charlie and Rosanna in Maryland for too long, forcing them to stay in a hotel and so far away from home. Alana sits, wolfing down the last of her omelet and draining her coffee mug, before she stands and hands her plate and mug back to Hannibal, who takes it and sets it in the sink.

He turns, embraces her, and kisses her sweet and long. "Hurry back, my love," he murmurs. She smiles at him, kisses him again, and turns to Will to receive the same treatment. Then, she grabs her keys and phone, and heads to the front door. Both Will and Hannibal rise to watch her leave.

When she is gone, Will turns to him, purring loudly, and nuzzles Hannibal's neck. "Quite a neat arrangement," he murmurs, shivering with pleasure when Hannibal cups his nape.

Hannibal nods, pressing his nose to Will's hair, and breathes in deeply. Will huffs, and touches his chest with a gentle hand. "Did you really think I would want the baby?" he asks, and though his voice is light, there is a thick undercurrent of concern in it.

Hannibal pulls back so he can meet Will's eyes. He sighs, cupping Will's face. "I'll admit, I have read a lot of things wrong since your return to us," he says. Will presses his lips together, lowering his eyes. "I wouldn't put it past you to want to be in the child's life, to adopt him like one of your strays."

Will's lips twitch in a smile somewhat sad.

"I don't want one if it's not yours," he murmurs.

And Hannibal believes him. "…Do you?" he asks, and Will lifts his eyes again. "Want one?"

Will lifts his shoulder in a shrug. "One day, maybe," he admits. Then, more confidently, says, "Yes."

Hannibal's breath catches, and he smiles, pulling Will into a kiss, so happy and relieved when Will arches against him eagerly, hands on his chest, lips parting sweetly to let Hannibal taste him.

"I don't want to be denied any part of you," Will says when they separate.

Hannibal shakes his head. "Never again, I swear," he says, and Will's eyes flash, his smile widening to show his teeth. "I will never cage you, never limit you; I would see you flourish for me, and, when the time is right…" He slides a hand down Will's flank, watching Will shiver, and cups his flat stomach, "I will plant my seed in you, and watch it grow."

" _Hannibal_ ," Will breathes, and Hannibal smiles, throat aching when he smells the first eddies of Will's arousal, coloring the air between them.

"When you are ready, when you go into heat, I will not deny you then, either," Hannibal promises. He can remember the scent of Will, feral and fine, and it makes his chest ache with desire. Will arches into his touch, his breaths turned soft and gasping, a pretty flush coloring his cheeks. "I will give you everything you desire. My love…" He leans in, kisses Will's cheek, pleased and purring when Will whines. "My knot." Will trembles. "My child."

Will sags against him, clinging and warm and so, so sweet. He snaps his teeth together, close to Hannibal's neck, and Hannibal growls.

"No more cages, darling," he promises. "No more limitations. There is no honor in mounting an Omega in a cage."

Will's eyes flare open, wide and dark and gold. He wraps his fingers in Hannibal's shirt and tugs. "I want you now," he demands. "In my nest. I want you to mount me."

Hannibal smiles, and wraps his hands around Will's, tugging his grip free. "No," he says, and waits just long enough for the flash of outrage to darken Will's eyes, before he tugs him closer and puts a hand in his hair, and growls into his ear; "You will run, and I will chase you."

Will shivers, gasping, and the scent of his slick is overwhelming now. Hannibal guides him back into the kitchen, herds him to the far side of the island and places himself on the other side. Will's eyes darken, his fingers flex, and he shows his teeth.

If Will tries to make it to his nest, he will have to go through Hannibal. It's not impossible, but he must be quick, and cunning, if he is to make it even to the stairs.

Will's eyes dart to the door, and his smile is wide with anticipation.

"You'll chase me?"

"To the ends of the earth," Hannibal replies. And he knows that, now – Will would never leave him, not willingly, and if it were to ever happen again Hannibal would tear the world to shreds to find his mate.

Will meets his eyes, grins, and bolts. Not through the door to the hallway, but feints to the side, into the dining room. Hannibal snarls, and gives chase.

 

 

He fills Will's nest with the scent of Will's slick, colors the walls with the sound of his howls and needy cries. He mounts Will brutally, tearing his clothes with claws and teeth, leaves bite marks and bruises and suck-kisses all over Will's neck and shoulders. Rakes his thighs and bruises his hips with crescent-shaped nail marks. Mounts him, and knots him, until Will can barely lift his head and every inch of him is red or wet or both.

Alana returns just past noon, a smile on her face when she sees Will pinned in Hannibal's arms, his back to Hannibal's chest as Hannibal teases him with his knot, his hand stroking Will's cock slowly as Will bucks and writhes against him, desperate for it. She sheds her clothes quickly and climbs into the nest and Hannibal hauls Will upright, to his knees, and watches ravenously as she props herself up on the back wall of the nest, at a perfect height for Will to sink between her thighs. He kisses her with brazen desire and wide-spread hands, works his cock deep into her and back onto Hannibal's knot and whimpers when she comes on his cock.

She sighs, lashes fluttering as he fucks into her, going still, and she and Hannibal kiss over Will's shoulder as he fills her, and Hannibal fills him, all three of them connected and conjoined as they should have always been. The scents of his mates' satisfaction feels like heavy whiskey and sweet wine, and Hannibal is drunk on it.

They all settle down, buried beneath blankets and each other. Charlie passed the tests. He and Rosanna will take the baby once he's out of the hospital, after they make sure he's not too sick, has all his vaccinations, and they have all they need. They will register the baby with Charlie's and Rosanna's names as his parents, and that will be that.

Abigail Hobbs' trial is set for early next month. If they are called to bear witness, they will help her paint a picture of a defenseless young female at the whim of her Alpha. If she behaves, Hannibal will pressure the prosecution to give her a minimum sentence. He does not want her to be acquitted, but to rob someone so young of most of their life seems cruel, even for him.

Maybe five years. Seems fitting.

 

 

Two days later, Charlie and Rosanna are at their table again, and Hannibal has the flesh offering of an insufferable Opera goer. Charlie doesn't eat the meat, but Hannibal plies him with warm bread and Dauphinoise potatoes, sweet figs and a spicy dish of spinach and rice. The baby never leaves his arms the entire night, and he is a docile, sweet thing.

"What will you name him?"

Charlie flushes, and bites his lower lip. "We were thinking of a few," Rosanna says. "But I want to call him 'Will'."

Will blinks, a startled, happy sound falling from his mouth. His eyes are wet. "You don't have to do that."

Charlie smiles. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here," he replies, like it's as simple as that.

Perhaps it is.

Will embraces him when it's time for them to go, and Rosanna too, and places a tentative, gentle kiss to the baby's head. The baby burbles at him, smiles gummy and wide, and grabs his finger when Will purrs.

"You're always welcome, if you find yourself in Ohio," Charlie offers, Rosanna helping him to don his coat with the baby in his arms.

"And you are always welcome here," Hannibal replies, Alana and Will nodding beside him. They part with one last embrace, and then that chapter of the book is finished with the click and lock of the front door.

 

 

"Good morning, Jack."

"Hannibal, good morning. How are things?"

"Couldn't ask for better."

Jack lets out a soft hum, and then says, "We found Hobbs' body. Burned to a crisp in his basement furnace."

"Oh, dear. Quite a terrible way to die."

"Quite," Jack parrots. "CSI found nothing at the scene suggesting anything…weird had gone on. We think Abigail might have poisoned him, then burned his body to hide the evidence, before turning herself in. Guess she couldn't live with the guilt of it all."

Hannibal smiles. "I'd believe that."

"Yeah, I figured you would."

Jack does not say it darkly – rather, he sounds somewhat pleased, pleased that Hannibal was smart, that whatever he did, he did it well. Of course, they can't prove Hannibal, or Will, or Alana were involved. That was the point.

"Will doing okay?"

"Flourishing," Hannibal replies, and smiles. Will is outside, with Alana, the sunlight illuminating them both. Between them, chasing a bright orange ball, is a newly-adopted dog, with soft, long brindle fur and intelligent eyes. Will had found him on the side of the road. The thought of refusal never crossed Hannibal's or Alana's mind.

"Good," Jack says, pleased. "That's good."

"Yes, I imagine a very nice ending to a rather ugly experience. It is good to know that Hobbs is not still at large."

Jack lets out a sound of agreement. "I'll keep you posted on Abigail's trial," he says, and Hannibal nods though Jack can't see him. "Give Alana and Will my best."

"I will," Hannibal replies, and ends the call. He smiles, and goes outside, gaining Will's attention. He tosses the ball to the edge of the backyard, the dog barking and giving chase, and nuzzles Hannibal when he draws close.

"Everything alright?" he murmurs, nosing Hannibal's neck.

Hannibal's smile widens, and he kisses Will's forehead, and then Alana when she comes to them. "Wonderful," he breathes, surrounded by the scent of his happy mates, and outside air. "Just perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes it's unbearably fluffy and YES everything worked out very well and you know what THEY DESERVE IT. And in my head Charlie and Rosanna and baby Will visit during the next summer, and when Will has a baby it's a girl they name Mischa and she calls them 'Uncle Charlie' and 'Aunt Rosanna' and bb!Will does the same with the triad. I WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY AND THEY ARE.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who journeyed with me! I'll admit, it went really off the rails from my original idea, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it and I hope it was just as much a pleasure to read!
> 
> See you in the next fic <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Intimancy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908516) by [Edge_sama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_sama/pseuds/Edge_sama)




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